For The Blessings We Are About To Receive
by michael t
Summary: Episode nine of the Trick Chronicles, in which it is Thanksgiving and Angel must come to the rescue.
1. chapter 1

Suggested listening:  
"Nowhere Else" by the 77s  
"Be Thankful For What You've Got" by Massive Attack  
  
  
For The Blessings We Are About To Receive  
By  
  
Michael Walker  
  
Prologue  
  
It was so very quiet. He always marveled that so many people could produce so little sound. Of course, brushes and dental picks didn't make much noise, and everyone was so absorbed in their own task that conversational chatter was kept to a minimum. The generators produced more sound than the crew. The heat and dust combined with the mechanical chatter to create a slight soporific effect. He pushed the baseball cap back on his head as he looked at the twine-and-stake grid, laid out so carefully to mimic the larger dig site.  
  
At first glance, there was nothing particularly significant about the fragment of clay, but it kept drawing his attention. Giving in to his curiosity, he stepped closer and squatted to look more closely. Expert as he was, the glyphs still looked somewhat unfamiliar. He could read part of an inscription, but at a certain point it turned into gibberish. Intrigued, he picked it up, holding it with his fingertips at the edges, and headed for his tent.  
  
It only took a few hours to realize that the gibberish section was actually a code. His pulse quickened. An ancient code! What a challenge this would be.  
  
He missed dinner, and when they came to inquire, he asked that food be brought to him. He worked far into the darkest hours of morning, then retired to a cot for two hours sleep, rising before dawn to resume his work. He had only a few books with him, and much of what the fragment contained seemed to have no connection with them. Time and again, he thought he had cracked the code, only to realize it was a dead end.  
  
It took four days, four days while the rest of the expedition continued to dig, and whisper about the "crazy Englishman", but at dusk on that fourth day, he had it. The code was cracked. As the night turned to velvet black, he began to translate the message. Even with the code, it was a torturous process. It was past midnight when, working by the harsh white glow of the camp lantern, he held a finished translation in his hands. What he read made his blood run cold.  
  
"No," he whispered. "It cannot be." Fingers trembling, he laid the translated message on the folding desk and dropped his head into his hands.  
  
The shadow flickered on the tent wall. "Who is it?" he said, lifting his head. That was a mistake, for it only gave the intruder a clean shot at his throat. He toppled from the stool, dead before his body hit the ground. The killer picked up the translation, folded it with great care, and tucked it into a pocket. He wiped his dagger on the dead man's shirt, then reversed it and with great precision used the pommel to reduce the clay fragment to powder. The assassin looked around the tent, then with a gloved hand, carefully turned out the lantern.  
  
***  
  
"So, what I'm saying is, I'm still looking forward to Thanksgiving." Willow Rosenberg perched atop a tombstone, feet dangling. "Although I do feel kind of guilty about it, I mean, a holiday that basically celebrates the beginning of our destruction of an entire native culture. Yet on the plus side, it's basically nonsectarian in orientation, so the whole Jewish thing isn't such a problem."  
  
Buffy Summers ceased scanning the horizon for vampires and turned to her redheaded friend. "Will, sometimes you make the undead seem positively normal."  
  
"Thanks." Willow perked up and grinned. "I'll take that as a compliment." They sat for a moment, enjoying the silent bonds of friendship, bonds that were broken by a distinct rustling behind a mausoleum.  
  
"Here we go," Buffy said, scooping up her Slayer bag. "Ours not to question why, ours just to make 'em die."  
  
"You could've picked a more upbeat poem," Willow complained.  
  
"That's from a poem?" Buffy shrugged. "Whaddya know. Education pays off." She underhanded a vial of holy water in Willow's direction. "Catch."  
  
Three vampires crouched behind the mausoleum, brutish and malformed. They looked up, startled at the Slayer's approach. That moment's pause proved fatal. Buffy did not hesitate, but dropped her Slayer bag and plunged right in. She charged the middle vamp, driving her stake deep into his heart, then dropped and rolled as the two survivors leapt at her. Their heads collided in empty space with a surprisingly loud clunk. Buffy popped to her feet, stake in hand.  
  
"Y'know," she said to Willow, "that trick always works for Bugs Bunny." She stepped up and staked the second vamp, but the third vamp was a little quicker and a little braver than his companions. He grabbed her from behind, pinning her arms at her sides. His head reared back, spit-shiny fangs shone. Then he screamed, a great roar of pain. Buffy threw her head back, catching him squarely in the nose. He let go, still shrieking. She turned. Smoke poured from his back and shoulders. Buffy picked up her and dispatched him.  
  
Willow stood there, now-empty flask in her hand. "You could have just thrown the whole thing," Buffy pointed out.  
  
"Yeah," Willow said. "But then there would have been broken glass everywhere."  
  
Buffy surveyed the piles of fine dust, already beginning to blow away in the slight breeze. "True. I guess one should remain as neat as possible when wreaking unholy carnage." She turned to Willow. "Ready to go?"  
  
Willow's head jerked in a quick nod. "Sure. Home?"  
  
"Why not? Today was grocery day. There should be fresh Doritos."  
  
As the two friends picked up their things, a dark figure watched from behind a tree. After Buffy and Willow were out of sight, the figure crept away in the opposite direction.  
  
***  
  
There were fresh Doritos and Dr. Pepper and Alexander Lavelle Harris, who was very excited.  
  
"This is gonna rock your world," he said, sliding the tape into Buffy's VCR. "A Better Tomorrow subtitled, yes, I said subtitled, not dubbed."  
  
"That's what you're so excited about?" Buffy said, her voice brimming with incredulity. "Another John Woo movie?"  
  
Xander froze in front of the VCR and turned slowly. "Another John Woo movie? Sometimes the depth of your ignorance astonishes me. A Better Tomorrow is the John Woo movie, perhaps the ur-John Woo movie."  
  
"Ur?" Buffy's nose crinkled.  
  
"What about The Killer?" Willow crunched a nacho cheesy chip.  
  
"Close second." Xander pressed play and scooted back across the room, settling onto the floor. "Either one of them are better than anything he's done in America.  
  
"So you're saying his best work is his Hong Kong period." Willow looked into the bag of chips.  
  
"Yeah," Xander said. "I'm saying that John Woo's Hong Kong movies are better than his Hollywood ones."  
  
"Explain," Willow demanded.  
  
Xander shrugged. "I think it's the language barrier. Subtitles and gunfire are such a match." He reached into the bag Willow held and took handful of chips. "Plus, Chow Yun Fat could kick Bruce Willis's ass any day of the week. Not to mention Nicolas Cage's."  
  
"Hey," Willow said. "I like Nicolas Cage."  
  
"I said not to mention Nicolas Cage," Xander said, popping a chip. "Besides, he couldn't carry Chow's trench coat."  
  
"No argument there," Buffy conceded. She settled back on the sofa, bracketed by her friends and ready for an evening of wire work and gunplay.   
  
***  
  
Giles could not remember the name of the tune that was stuck in his head. This annoyed him a great deal more than the tune itself, which was a banal little number that he was positive came from a boyhood visit to a music hall. Snippets of melody floated through his head as he prepared a light supper. The knock at the door was a welcome interruption.  
  
Not so welcome as to take for granted, however. One never knew who, or what, might be stopping by in Sunnydale. Especially after dark. Giles plucked a stout cane from the umbrella stand. At least, it appeared to be just a cane. It was actually made of cured oak, with a large silver knob for the head and a curiously sharp point at the other end. Vampires couldn't enter without an invitation, and the silver was a good all-purpose defense against most other supernatural foes.  
  
He opened the door, keeping it between him and his visitor as much as possible.  
  
"Very good, Rupert. Still keeping up your guard."  
  
Giles flung the door wide. His guest was very tall, towering a good six inches above Giles. Silver hair was combed straight back from a pronounced widow's peak, above a face that was all planes and angles.  
  
"Gerard!" Giles said. "Please come in."  
  
Gerard Roland stepped across the threshold. He wore a simple black sweater and khaki trousers as though they were custom-tailored on the King's Row. The shirt hung impeccably, the creases in the pants sharp enough to slice bread. Looking at his old friend, Giles felt even more rumpled and tweedy than usual.  
  
The awkward pause ended as Gerard wrapped Giles up in an enthusiastic hug, lifting his feet off the floor. "Ah, Rupert, it is so good to see you again, my friend."  
  
Back on terra firma, Giles took off his glasses and fiddled with them. "It's good to see you as well. I must say, it's most unexpected." He put his glasses back on. "Where are my manners," he scolded himself. "Have a seat. Would you like something to drink?"  
  
"Of course." Gerard settled himself on the sofa. "I don't suppose you have any cognac, do you?"  
  
Giles hesitated. "No, I don't, but I do have-"  
  
"I know, I know. You have tea." Gerard waved a hand. "A cup of your excellent Earl Grey would be fantastic."  
  
Giles dawdled with the tea, trying to calm his spinning brain. How many years since he had last seen Gerard? What would bring him from Montreal to Sunnydale?  
  
Get a grip, man! Giles internal command stiffened his spine. There was only one way to find out. He placed the cozy over the kettle, arranged the cups and utensils on a tray, and went back to the living room.  
  
"Tell me, Gerard," he said as he placed his burden on the coffee table. "What brings you to Sunnydale? Is this a social call?"  
  
Gerard Roland leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Alas, Rupert, I wish it were so. I fear... Well, I am not sure what I fear, but I know that I am afraid."  
  
Giles straightened, alarm painting his face as Gerard selected a cup and methodically prepared his tea. Finished, he sat back and sipped. He looked up, noticed that Giles was still standing.  
  
"Rupert," he said, nodding at the easy chair, "do sit down." As Giles lowered himself, Gerard sat his cup down on table and clasped his hands.  
  
"Well," he said, "I suppose I should begin with the situation at the Council."  
  
"Something is wrong at the Council?" Giles could not believe what he was hearing.  
  
"Ah, Rupert, if it were only so simple. "The entire situation is much more--" Gerard made a rolling motion with his hands-"fluid."  
  
"How so?"  
  
"Rupert, you with your books and your museums and me with my languages, we have some sense of the flow of history, no? We know that whenever an organization faces a changing culture, there are two responses. One is to contest the change from without by emphasizing tradition. The other is to try to adapt, and perhaps influence the change, to guide it to good ends. This is the crux of the debate at the Council."  
  
Giles' confusion was plain on his face. "But, why would the Council be in conflict?"  
  
A sardonic smile flitted across Gerard's face. "Because of you, my old friend. You and your Slayer."  
  
The china cup almost slipped from Giles' hand. "What? Why, that's the most preposterous thing I've ever heard."  
  
"Is it? Let us start with you, my friend. A faction blames you for, and I quote them, 'this present disgraceful situation.'" Gerard waited a moment for a reply. When none was forthcoming, he continued. "Your Slayer, her name is Buffy, I believe, has been something of a rebel, has she not?"  
  
"Well, I wouldn't put it that way. She still--"  
  
"That is how some on the Council would put it. They are also very troubled by reports that a number of people know that she is the Slayer."  
  
Giles remained silent, digesting this information. "So the Council has sent you--"  
  
"Oh, no no." Gerard threw up his hands. "They have no idea I am here. If they knew..." An eloquent shrug completed the thought.  
  
"Aren't you being a bit melodramatic?"  
  
"I wish I was. I believe you are in danger. You and your Slayer."  
  
"Danger? From whom?" The absurdity of the question struck Giles. When was he not in danger?  
  
"From the very ones you once called brothers. Rupert, I fear that the Council may be persuaded to pursue some form of sanction against you."  
  
"What?" Giles started up from his chair.  
  
"Please." Gerard motioned for him to sit. "There has been talk of calling a new Grand Inquisitor."  
  
Now Giles really was worried.  
  
***  
  
"Buffy. Buffy."  
  
"Wait a minute." Buffy forced one eye open, looking into her mother's face. "What kind of trick is this? I know there's no school today."  
  
"You have a phone call."  
  
Buffy levered herself onto her elbows and looked at her clock. "Do I even know anyone who's awake at this hour?"  
  
"Besides your dear mother? Yes." Joyce turned in the doorway. "Tall man, speaks with a British accent."  
  
"Say no more." Buffy rolled out of bed. "And I really mean that. Say no more."  
  
After navigating stairs as treacherous as Mt. Everest, Buffy picked up the phone in the kitchen. "H'lo," she mumbled.  
  
Joyce watched from the doorway, and tried to discern the gist of the conversation. This proved impossible, since Buffy's contribution consisted mostly of grunts and mumbled "Uh-huh"'s. Her first full sentence was "All right. I'll see you then," which she uttered just before hanging up.  
  
"Is anything wrong?" Joyce asked.  
  
"Oh, you know, the usual." Buffy waved a hand as she stumbled to the coffee maker. "'Great danger, be careful, watch your back', blah, blah, blah. Heard it once, heard it yada yada."  
  
"Did he mention the source of this great danger?" Joyce tried to keep her tone light, but she had brushed up against Buffy's calling too many times to keep the strain from showing.  
  
Buffy poured a cup of coffee. "No, but I'm sure it's from some dusty book bound in the skin of an endangered species." She blew on the hot liquid, took a sip. "Anyway, I'm going over to his house this afternoon."  
  
"You'll be careful?"  
  
Buffy shot her mom a look. "I know," Joyce said, raising her hands, "that was a stupid question." She retreated from the room as Buffy picked up the phone.  
  
She punched in the familiar number. "Hi Will," she said. "Giles tells me there's another possible apocalypse on the horizon. Wants me to meet him this afternoon. I'm sure there'll be heavy research. You in? Great. Meet you at his house noon-thirtyish."  
  
She hung up the phone and took another sip of coffee. "What to wear?" she mused to herself.  
  
***  
  
"Why can't we ever fight any demons who love to hang out on sunny days? That way we could get a tan along with our scars." Buffy raised her arms, letting the warm autumn sun caress them.  
  
"We do seem to spend an unhealthy amount of time either underground or running through the night," Willow conceded. "Maybe we could find some demons who haunt the beach. That would be cool. Or snow skiing! I could really go for fighting some demons who love to ski."  
  
"We should ask Giles if that's possible." They turned up the sidewalk that led to Giles' apartment. Buffy's hand was raised to knock when the door opened.  
  
"Come in, come in." Giles stepped aside, motioning for them to enter. Buffy noticed an old guy sitting in Giles' chair. On second look, he was about the same age as Giles, which made him old, but not old like on first impression. The white hair was a possible reason; it made such a stark contrast with the black turtleneck and dove-gray trousers he wore. He got up as they entered, his lanky frame unfolding from the sofa. He held out a hand.  
  
"Hello," he said, his voice soft and slightly accented. "I am Gerard Roland. Which of you is the Slayer?"  
  
"That would be me," Buffy said, taking his hand. To her surprise, he did not shake, but gave a little bow and kissed her hand. "Okay," she said, withdrawing her hand, "First lesson in American etiquette. We don't do the hand-kiss thing."  
  
Willow turned to Giles. "I'm guessing he's one of you."  
  
Giles shrugged. "Yes."  
  
The white-haired guy actually bowed. "Indeed, I am a Watcher."  
  
"Is he the great danger?" Buffy asked.  
  
Gerard laughed as Giles stammered, "No, no. In fact, he's come to warn us."  
  
"About?" Buffy said.  
  
"Yeah." Willow shrugged. "What's the vine?"  
  
"The vine?" Gerard was definitely puzzled.  
  
"As in grape," Willow offered. "You know, the grapevine?"  
  
"Ah!" Gerard clapped his hands. "Rupert, I tell you, the dialect you have here is fascinating."  
  
"Yes," Giles muttered, "well, you wouldn't say that if you had to listen to it every day." He motioned for everyone to sit down. "I think we should wait for Faith and Ms. Maeda to arrive." Buffy and Willow looked at each other, then settled down on the sofa. Gerard Roland waited for them to be seated, then lowered himself into the chair, projecting so much natural grace and authority that Buffy almost jumped to her feet. She looked at Willow again. The redhead's eyes widened and the corners of her mouth pulled down in that familiar expression of Willow-bafflement. Buffy looked around for Giles, but he was nowhere to be seen. She heard water running in the kitchen.  
  
"So," Gerard said, "this is somewhat uncomfortable, no?"  
  
"Somewhat, yes," Buffy said.  
  
A small refined smile quirked Gerard's lips. "I apologize."  
  
"So, do you work with languages?" Willow leaned forward. "I mean, the thing you said about dialects and all, it sounded like a professional interest to me."  
  
"Indeed." Gerard hitched forward in his chair, half-turning his upper body so that his left elbow rested on his left knee. His right hand splayed across his right thigh. "I am a philologist."  
  
"Do you live in France?" Buffy asked.  
  
He chuckled. "No. I live in Montreal." He rolled the 'r' with immense savoir-faire.  
  
"Do all Watchers have other jobs?" Willow said.  
  
Gerard shrugged. "We are all trained and most of us are employed in our main area of expertise." He sat back, his open hands extended in front of him. "But look at you. You have enticed me into talking about myself. You are very good."  
  
"Good?" Willow looked puzzled. "At what?"  
  
"You know much more about me than you did a few moments ago, while I, I know nothing more of you. You are a very gifted young lady."  
  
Willow actually blushed. "Th-Thank you," she stammered. She ducked her head as she flushed a deep red. There was a knock at the door and Giles came out of the kitchen so fast that Buffy checked his feet for roller skates. He flung open the door with enough force that it hit the stop and rebounded, forcing him to catch it with his left hand.  
  
"Come in," he said, his voice a little higher than usual.  
  
Faith stepped across the threshold, followed by Lindsay. The contrast was startling. Faith's eyes were puffy and a little bloodshot. One cheek was still creased by pillow marks. She wore a periwinkle-blue spaghetti-strap top over blue and green plaid flannel pants that Buffy suspected were pajamas. Her sockless feet were jammed into untied Doc Martens. She looked around the room and muttered, "It better be barbarians at the gate time, 'cause this is wicked early to be up on a Sunday."  
  
"It's almost one in the afternoon," Giles said.  
  
"My point exactly," Faith said as she half-staggered across the room and plopped down between Buffy and Willow. "Hey, B," she said as she rested her head on Buffy's shoulder, "wake me up when this gets interesting." She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. Buffy glanced at Gerard Roland, who seemed a bit nonplussed.  
  
On the other hand, Lindsay wore a crimson silk turtleneck under a navy-blue wool blazer. A flat gold chain encircled her throat. Black pants and half-boots completed the ensemble. She stopped inside the door, looking from Giles to Gerard and back again. Giles cleared his throat. "Lindsay Maeda, may I introduce Gerard Roland."  
  
Gerard rose with a short half-bow. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."  
  
Lindsay nodded. "I thought I recognized you from the book jackets."  
  
Gerard smiled and waved his hands in a c'est la vie gesture. "You are very kind. I fear that I have aged a great deal since those books were written."  
  
Giles made a shushing motion with his hands. "Could we please be seated and get on with this?" Buffy watched in amazement as he herded Lindsay across the room to a chair. Giles was positively twitchy. He tried crossing his arms in front of him, then clasped at his waist before he thrust them into the pockets of his trousers. He nodded in Gerard's direction. All eyes turned to the white-haired Watcher. Buffy elbowed Faith in the ribs. Faith blinked as she struggled to sit upright.  
  
Gerard spread his hands wide, a mournful expression on his face. "When I decided to come to my dear friend Rupert, I did so with a heavy heart. Now, having met you-" he nodded at the three girls on the sofa-"that pain is doubled."  
  
"Do you get paid by the word?" Faith grunted.  
  
Gerard nodded. "I beg your pardon. Sometimes I love the sound of my own voice. I have come here to warn you. I believe that you are all in danger."  
  
"Even me?" Willow squeaked.  
  
"No, not you, not directly." Gerard rubbed his forehead with the fingers of his right hand. "The Slayers and their Watchers."  
  
"Sorry you made a long trip for nothing," Buffy said. "Us being in danger isn't exactly a reason to stop the presses."  
  
"Ah, but you have never before been in danger of the Watchers Council."  
  
"Excuse me?" Buffy looked skeptical.  
  
Gerard raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Not from the entire Council, but from a small faction, a faction that has come to believe that you are a reason for the burgeoning chaos around the world, rather than a bulwark against it."  
  
Buffy turned to Giles. "Could you tell him that prof-speak tends to make our tiny little heads hurt?" She jerked a thumb at Gerard, but Giles wasn't paying attention.  
  
"What 'burgeoning chaos'?" he demanded of Gerard. "You said nothing about any 'burgeoning chaos'."  
  
"Felix, Oscar. Let's concentrate on the matter at hand." Buffy turned to Gerard. "How could I be responsible for any of this?"  
  
He rubbed his chin, choosing his words with great care. "The Council has an established order, a lineage and ritual of centuries. A Slayer is born, she is called when the present Slayer dies, she does battle until she dies, then--"  
  
"Yeah, yeah, then the next one is called. Skip Slayology 101. I think we're ready for the advanced class."  
  
"Maybe even postgrad," Willow chimed in.  
  
A smile flickered across Gerard's face, and he spoke to Giles. "I tell you, Rupert, if I only had time, I would love to study these two." He turned back to Buffy. "Very well. As I'm sure you are aware, no Slayer has ever behaved as you."  
  
"Yeah, I've been reminded of that many times." Buffy rolled her eyes.  
  
"Your... independence has made a faction of the Council very nervous, almost frantic."  
  
"I can't believe that anyone on the Council would think that Buffy should be punished." Lindsay picked at the knee of her slacks. "Who are they?"  
  
Gerard shrugged. "The core of this faction is a group of young zealots who believe that we must purge the Council of compromise."  
  
"Compromise?" Buffy frowned. "Compromise with what?"  
  
"I do not believe they know." Gerard leaned back and crossed his right leg over his left. "Insufficient fervor is always an easy accusation to make."  
  
Lindsay held out one hand, palm up. "But surely they can't have much influence."  
  
"They are remorseless in pressing their agenda and they have the fire of obsessed youth. Their persistence is causing some who should know better to waver." The elegant Watcher sighed. "But that is not all. They have forged a sort of devil's alliance with another party." He looked at Giles.  
  
The librarian stared at his friend. "No. Tell me that what I'm thinking is wrong." Gerard shook his head in the negative.  
  
"What?" Lindsay said. The three girls sat on the couch, transfixed by the scene.  
  
"Lindsay, you are very young." A sad smile etched itself upon Gerard's features. "Watchers, in their own way, are as special as Slayers. The Slayer is called, but she has powers. We are called to face death armed with nothing but conviction. You yourself are aware that there is no higher honor for a Watcher than to guide a Slayer, yet it is an honor that most, indeed almost all Watchers will never experience. It is only natural that those who have no Slayer become jealous of those who do."  
  
"Somebody is after us because Lindsay's my watcher and not them?" The conversation had finally gotten Faith's full attention. "Anybody touches her, I kick their ass through the top of their head."  
  
"Faith." Lindsay made a shushing gesture. "So this coalition might actually be able to set policy?"  
  
Giles's brow furrowed. "How could such a situation come to pass at the Council?"  
  
"Sadly, it is a common phenomenon." Gerard gave another eloquent shrug. "Organizations become more interested in protecting themselves than accomplishing their stated goals."  
  
There was a moment of silence before Buffy cut to the chase. "You're saying I'm in danger because they're afraid of losing their jobs?"  
  
The three Watchers looked at one another. Gerard shrugged. "A bit oversimplified, but essentially correct."  
  
"Well, that's the definition of suck," Willow said.  
  
"What's our next move?" Lindsay asked.  
  
Giles pushed away from the wall he was leaning against. "What sort of time frame are we facing? How advanced is this sentiment? What sort of actions are they talking about?"  
  
Gerard folded his hands in front of his face, the fingertips tapping against each other. "The answers to those questions are quite complex and detailed."  
  
"Oh great," Faith groaned. "I don't even want to know this guy's idea of a complex answer." She flopped back on the couch. Lindsay gave her the evil eye.  
  
Buffy lifted her left hand off her knee at a right angle to her forearm. "If I might rephrase that in a more polite way, do we need to stay here for this? Because this sounds like it could on all day and, no offense, but I just don't want to be here for that."  
  
Giles rubbed the back of his neck. "It might be best if you left us alone. I'm sure that the internecine affairs of the Watchers Council will be of little interest."  
  
"I have no idea what that word meant, but I distinctly heard permission to leave." Buffy stood. "I'm out of here."  
  
Lindsay said, "Faith, I don't know how long this will take."  
  
"If it's okay with you, she can hang at my house." Buffy looked at Lindsay, then at Faith. "In fact, why don't you just sleep over tonight?"  
  
Faith shrugged. "Sounds great to me. Linz?"  
  
Lindsay nodded. "Good idea. Thanks, Buffy."  
  
***  
  
"That was the dumbest movie in the world." Faith rocked her head from side to side, loosening her neck. Buffy and Willow fanned out behind her on the sidewalk in front of the Sunnydale Six theater. Willow had suggested an afternoon showing of Pleasantville  
  
"I thought it was sweet," Willow said.  
  
"C'mon, they screw and the world turns colors?" Faith snorted. "Wish I'd meet a guy that good."  
  
"What would you rather see?" Willow said, her pride stung.  
  
"Soldier," Faith replied without hesitation. "Ninety minutes of kicking ass and taking names."  
  
Willow scowled. "There's more to life than fighting."  
  
"Really?" Faith put one hand on her hip. "Oh yeah. There's partying after fighting." She executed an impromptu dance step on the sidewalk.  
  
Willow was aghast. "Didn't you think it was even a little romantic or sweet, the idea that love could change the whole world?"  
  
Faith pointed at the redhead. "See, there's the flaw in your reasoning, right there. It wasn't about love. It was about screwing. Everybody's world started changing when they started getting their freak on."  
  
"What about the Jeff Daniels character?" Willow demanded. "It was his love for his art that did it."  
  
"Please. Love for his art? He wanted to fuck another man's wife." Faith smirked. "That was his grand passion." Her voice dripped sarcasm.  
  
Willow stamped her foot on the sidewalk. "That is so cynical." She turned to Buffy. "What do you think?"  
  
The blond Slayer bit her lower lip. "I think it might have been, uh, a little rosy."  
  
"Oh!" Willow crossed her arms and scowled. "You're just on her side."  
  
A cocky grin split Faith's lips. "'cause I'm right."  
  
"Uh, guys?" Buffy pointed to the sky. "Sun's going down. We should probably think about patrol."  
  
"Oh yeah," Faith said. "Time to get to the important work."  
  
Willow was still pouting. "I'm not in the mood."  
  
"Will," Buffy said. "It's just a movie." She put an arm around her best friend's shoulders.  
  
"I know," Willow said. "But I liked it."  
  
Buffy smiled. "Maybe that's because you've had better experiences than we have." A weak smile crossed Willow's face. Buffy looked into the redhead's eyes. "Sure you don't want to come?" Willow shook her head. "Want to come by the house later?"  
  
Willow shook her head. "I think I'll call Oz."  
  
"Okay." Buffy removed her arm. "Are we good?"  
  
Willow grinned. "Yes. You know that."  
  
"Good," Buffy said. "See you at school tomorrow."  
  
***  
  
Oz slipped the CD into the Walkman and pressed the buttons to lock in the repeat pattern. He leaned back and smiled as the opening chords sounded through the headphones. He had bought this CD because Willow liked it; actually she liked one song on it. They had seen City of Angels and Willow had fallen hard for 'Iris.' She had purchased the soundtrack CD, but Oz gave it a pass. He had bought the Goo Goo Dolls Dizzy Up the Girl instead. 'Iris' was okay, but the third song on the album was the one for Oz. Every time he listened to it he hoped that someday he would be able to write a couplet as great as 'see the young man sittin' in the old man's bar, waitin' for his turn to die.' It sent shivers down his spine whenever Johnny Rzeznik sang that line in a grainy voice.  
  
He listened to the song twice, then took off the headphones and picked up his battered old Guild. The basic chord progression was simple, but Rzeznik used some wack altered tuning that made getting the sound right almost impossible in standard tuning. His wolf-enhanced hearing would have made it a snap for Oz to re-tune the Guild, but he didn't want to stress the old guitar's neck. Instead he was trying to split the difference and he was getting very close.  
  
He ran through the song twice, tweaking the arrangement the second time. He sat with the guitar on his lap. Why was he so focused on this? Dingoes would never cover 'Broadway.' Maybe that was the point.  
  
His morbid train of thought was broken when his gaze fell on the clock. Time for a treatment. He placed the Guild in its case and opened his desk drawer. He placed the three Zip-loc bags and the measuring spoons on the desk, pulled his mug toward him and began scooping. The phone rang in the middle of the process. Startled, he twitched and the spoon jumped, scattering its contents across the desk. He closed his eyes for a second as the phone range a second time. He picked up the receiver.  
  
"Yeah," he said.  
  
"Hi," Willow said. "Whatcha doing?"  
  
"Uh, nothing much. Playing the guitar, you know."  
  
Willow sighed in his ear. "I was hoping that maybe I could come over tonight."  
  
"Sure. Is anything wrong?"  
  
"I don't know." She sounded wistful. "I just want to see you."  
  
"And I like to be seen. When will you be here?"  
  
"Half an hour?"  
  
"Thirty minutes it is." He hung up, finished measuring the dosage, then picked up the cup and headed for the kitchen.  
  
***  
  
"I can't believe it," Giles said. "I won't believe it. Not from Ion Manolescu."  
  
Gerard Roland shrugged. "Your belief is not the issue, old friend." He tapped the top of his ear with an index finger. "I myself have heard him."  
  
"But he cannot be in league with these zealots."  
  
Gerard leaned forward. "It is their zealotry which appeals to him. You know that he is much enamored of the romantic charge. Besides, he is galled by the nature of your reports. He is offended by the lack of respect for tradition, by the frivolous attitude." A sarcastic smile graced his lips. "I think that he believes that you should be wearing a cape and top hat while Buffy fights the undead in a flowing dress of blood-red velvet."  
  
Giles sighed as he shook his head. "It's his heritage. Thinks because he's from Romania he must uphold the cult of Dracula."  
  
"Look, we've been at this for almost eight hours. Can we take a break?" Lindsay Maeda rested her forehead on the heels of her hands, trying to rub out the fatigue. "I think we've mentioned every member of the Council by name."  
  
"I'm sorry." Giles ran a hand through his hair, which was already pointing to every conceivable sub-heading of the compass. "We should stop for the night." Gerard and Lindsay stood as Giles began collecting dirty cups and plates. As he returned from the kitchen he noticed Gerard stroking a thumb along his chin. "What's the matter?" Giles asked.  
  
"Before I go, there is one more thing." The white-haired Watcher tried to smile, but it ended up as more of a grimace. "The Council is very, very unhappy that the Slayer's identity is no longer secret."  
  
Giles frowned. "I agree that it's not standard practice, but Buffy's friends have been nothing but an asset."  
  
"Still," Gerard said, "if you can find a way to warn them to be on their guard without making too much of a fuss, it would be wise."  
  
Lindsay buttoned her blazer as she shook her head. "I can't believe this. This is not the way I envisioned the operations of the Watcher's Council."  
  
"Neither did I, and I've been at this a lot longer than you." Giles folded his arms over his chest.  
  
"Well," Lindsay said, "I'm starving. I'll talk to you tomorrow."  
  
"I'll be glad to drive you home," Giles said, slapping at his pockets for his car keys.  
  
In one graceful motion Gerard Roland moved past her and swept open the door. "Please, I have kept you here far too late. Let me buy you dinner and take you home." He turned his bright, intense smile on Lindsay and some of her exhaustion abated.  
  
"Thank you," she said.  
  
"Be careful," Giles called after them as they went down the sidewalk. "Remember, we drive on the right side of the road here."  
  
"I know, Rupert." Gerard laughed as he ushered Lindsay into the passenger seat of the rented Ford Taurus. "We do in Canada, too." He waved and went around the car, got in the driver's seat and pulled away. Giles watched the red taillights recede in the distance.  
  



	2. chapter 2

  
"Heads up, B!" Faith planted her foot in the small of the vampire's back and shoved. The stunned demon lurched toward Buffy. The blond Slayer dropped her shoulder and pushed up with her legs. She caught the vampire's mid-section and vaulted the creature into the air. The fiend turned a slow, almost elegant flip and came down flat on her back. Buffy knelt and staked her. The Slayer stood, looking down at the dusty outline for a beat, then her hand shot out and grabbed the shirt of another vampire. The creature had thought to attack her while her attention was diverted, and he was about to pay. Buffy yanked him forward, sweeping his feet out from under him with her leg and flinging him away to her left, where Faith waited. The vampire skidded to a halt and tried to scramble to its feet. Faith stepped over, straddling its back. Her arms locked around the creature's head and twisted. There was a sound like an icicle snapping off an eave and the vampire screamed once and expired.  
  
Faith spun, looking for Buffy. The blond Slayer was battling the last vamp. He was tougher than the other two combined. He was actually managing to fend off some of Buffy's punches and land a few of his own. Faith sprinted toward them, drawing a stake as she did so. Buffy blocked an overhand punch, caught the wrist and executed a lighting-fast pivot that flipped the vampire over her shoulder. The demon landed hard, but managed to kick upward with both feet. Buffy leaned back, giving the creature enough time to flip to its feet. She brought both fists up in defensive position as it advanced in a crouch, fangs bared, yellow eyes gleaming.  
  
The vampire felt a light tap on its shoulder and turned. Faith's fist smashed into its jaw, snapping its head around. The vampire shook its head and gathered itself to meet Faith's attack. She grinned and beckoned to it. The creature opened its mouth to roar and Buffy's flying kick caught it in the back of the head. The demon sank to its knees and the two Slayers staked it simultaneously.  
  
Faith threw back her head and howled. "Wooooo-hooooo!" She held up a hand. "Don't leave me up high, B." Buffy gave her a high five. Faith's face contorted in fierce grin. "Let the wild rumpus begin!" She was breathing fast.  
  
"Okay there wild thing," Buffy said. "It's time to throttle back."  
  
The maniacal grin stayed plastered to Faith's face. "Come on, can't you feel it? We just kicked their asses." She spun around, arms flung wide. "Hear that, undead? That's the sound of your coffin slamming shut. Your ass is grass and we. Are. The. Lawnmower!"  
  
Buffy smiled in spite of herself as she took Faith's arm. "Come on Pink Ranger. I think it's time for us to go home."  
  
***  
  
Oz held back the curtain and peered through the window. He craned his neck, looking for the moon, which always drew his attention when he scrutinized the night sky.  
  
"Penny for your thoughts," Willow said behind him.  
  
"You overpay." Oz dropped the curtain and turned away from the window. Willow sat at his desk, her mouth graced by that small enigmatic smile that he knew so well. He stared at her for a long moment. Willow held his gaze for a beat, then looked down at the desk. Her hand fiddled with a pen.  
  
"What are you looking at?" she asked.  
  
"You," he said. "What else is there to look at?" She blushed a furious red. Oz stifled a smile. "I thought you might be out patrolling with Buffy and Faith."  
  
"No." Willow's face darkened. "The air is getting a little rare around the dynamic duo."  
  
"Holy green-eyed monster, Batman." Oz sat down on the bed. "Does jealousy rear its ugly head?"  
  
Willow sulked. "No. At least, I don't think so. It's just... I don't know. A couple of months ago Buffy was all like 'I'm so confused' and 'what does it mean to be the Slayer', and whose shoulder was there? Mine. Who was on her side when we found out Angel was back? Me. Again." Willow held up a hand. "Not that I'm keeping score girl here, but it just, it... Did I make any demands on her, or ask why she flaked on us? No. I tried to be the accepting, nurturing best friend."  
  
"Which you were."  
  
"Darn tootin' I was. When she was all Nell, who was her anchor girl? Me." Willow scowled as she looked at her hand, which was clenched in a tight fist. "And then Faith comes along and all of a sudden it's 'Let's do extra training' and "Let's patrol until dawn.' All of a sudden she's the Little Engine That Could and I'm... I don't know what I am."  
  
Oz nodded, a sober expression on his face. "Well, if it helps any, I'm still pretty fond of you. Besides, I thought you liked Faith."  
  
"I do, or at least I don't dislike her." Willow got up from her chair and began to pace the room. "Oh sure, I've picked up a stake in anger, but I don't know what it's like to be the Slayer, you know, to have the super strength and the speed and the tingly feeling around the vamps. Faith does."  
  
"And you're afraid that gives her a bond with Buffy that you'll never be able to share." Oz scratched his forehead.  
  
"Sort of."  
  
"And that your friendship with Buffy will suffer because of it."  
  
Willow winced. "Does that make me small and petty?"  
  
"No." Oz got up from the bed and crossed the room. As he held her close his glance fell on the guitar case propped against the wall. "What if another beautiful genius with a budding interest in witchcraft moves into town? If you start hanging with her, does that mean you're not Buffy's friend anymore?"  
  
"No," Willow said, her voice muffled as her face pressed into his shoulder.  
  
"Maybe the Slayer thing isn't about a deeper friendship than you have-maybe it's like me meeting someone who likes music. We can talk about music, debate it, maybe have the same favorite bands, even jam together. But it doesn't mean we know each other on any kind of deep level. We just have one big thing in common. Maybe that's why Buffy's spending time with Faith. She's been through a lot. Maybe with Faith she doesn't have to think about that. It's uncomplicated." He stepped back, his hand resting on Willow's shoulder. "But if things get bad, I bet I know who she'll run to."  
  
Willow sniffled and wiped the back of her hand across her nose. "Thanks." She jerked a thumb over her shoulder. "I'm, uh, I'm going to get something to drink? You want?"  
  
"Sure." As she headed down the hallway, Oz sank into the chair. He looked at the guitar case. "Good advice," he said aloud in the empty room. "Why don't you take it?"  
  
***  
  
Buffy stuck her head inside the door to the guestroom. "Hey, Faith, rise and shine." The heap of blankets in the middle of the bed twisted back and forth as a low moaning sound issued forth. Then the heap grew still.  
  
"Come on," Buffy said as she crossed the room. She leaned down and grabbed Faith's shoulder. "It's time for breakfast."  
  
She jerked back in the nick of time to avoid the fist that came whistling out of the covers. It was hard to tell what Faith was saying in that hoarse mumble, but Buffy was pretty sure she recognized a few choice profanities. Faith's tantrum subsided. She knelt in the middle of the bed, her hair a wild tangle, her big dark eyes blinking as she rubbed a hand across her face.  
  
"I'll see you downstairs," Buffy said. "Shake it or we'll be late. If you need something to wear, mi closet is su closet." Faith nodded and Buffy beat the retreat.  
  
Faith stumbled into the kitchen twenty minutes later, her hair still wet from the shower. She wore a red spaghetti-strap top of Buffy's. It was midriff-baring on Buffy; on the taller Slayer it revealed a very healthy expanse of velvety skin. "Good morning," Joyce said in a cheery voice. "How many pancakes would you like?"  
  
"What?" Faith said.  
  
"Mom has pulled out all the breakfasty stops for you," Buffy said.  
  
Faith squeezed her forehead between the heels of her hands. "Do you have any black coffee?"  
  
"Sure." Buffy got up from the table and poured a cup. Faith blew on it for a moment, then took a long gulp and closed her eyes.  
  
"So," Joyce said, "how about those pancakes?"  
  
Faith pried her eyes open and looked at Buffy's mother over the rim of her mug. "No offense, Mrs. Summers, but this isn't exactly my high calorie time of day."  
  
"Well, everyone needs a good breakfast." Joyce shoveled pancakes onto a plate. "What do you usually have?"  
  
Faith raised her cup. "You're looking at it."  
  
"The only thing you have for breakfast is coffee?" Joyce looked horrified as she placed the plate on the table.  
  
Faith shrugged. The caffeine was evidently doing its job. "Sometimes there's cold pizza. The odd leftover burrito." She poked at the pancakes with a fork, a wary look on her face, and decided that they might not be fatal. She cut off a wedge and chewed. "Not bad," she said as she swallowed. "But it's pretty hard to make these when all you've got is a hot plate." She made quick work of the pancakes and finished her coffee. "Thanks, Mrs. Summers." Faith turned to Buffy. "Gotta brush my teeth. Back in a minute."  
  
"Mom, what are our plans for Thanksgiving?" Buffy rested her chin on her folded hands.  
  
"I thought we'd do the usual." Joyce began clearing the kitchen. "Sleep late, go to aunt Iris's for dinner, try to stay awake for the drive home. It is the Summers tradition."  
  
"What if we changed the Summers tradition?" Buffy looked at her mother.  
  
"Changed it how?" Joyce asked as she scraped something off a plate into the disposal.  
  
"Oh, maybe stayed home and had some friends over for our own Thanksgiving." Buffy raised her eyebrows in what she hoped was a beseeching look.  
  
Joyce smiled. "Would these friends be named Faith and Lindsay?" She gave her daughter a quick hug. "I think it's a great idea. I think Iris will understand. Why don't you see if they want to come?"  
  
***  
  
Delilah took a moment to smooth her skirt and straighten her jacket before she knocked on the door. Her clothing was fine, but her psyche needed the pause. She raised her hand, hesitated, and then knocked once, softly.  
  
"Come in."  
  
She opened the door and entered the room. Mr. Trick's private quarters looked very different from his office. The walls were deep burgundy and the floor rosewood with purpleheart inlay. The furniture was black and wall sconces provided a diffuse illumination.  
  
Mr. Trick stood in the large open space in the middle of the room, barefoot, clad in black silk pants. He moved through the prescribed movements of the kata with the grace of oil flowing across polished steel. He completed the action, then turned to Delilah, a film of sweat coating his chiseled upper body. "Yes?" he said.  
  
Delilah glanced around, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. Mr. Trick had decorated his abode with dozens of mirrors of all sizes. It was his macabre joke; the room was reflected back on itself hundreds of times, yet neither its inhabitant nor his guests ever saw themselves.  
  
"I, uh, I wanted to tell you that we have some unhappy campers in the tac squad." She tried not to look at the mirrors.  
  
"Yes, I imagine we do." Trick picked up a black towel and began wiping off his chest and upper arms. "I'm not ecstatic myself. Those two little bitches have used up my interest and are starting to eat into my principle."  
  
"Sir?" Delilah asked.  
  
Trick dabbed at his forehead. "The plan was to turn townspeople fast enough to keep the Slayer occupied. Problem is, we now have two Slayers and they're both very good. They killed everyone we turned and now they're starting on our soldiers." He covered his face with the towel for a moment, blotting up perspiration. The towel came down. "That's bad for morale and bad for efficiency." He looked at Delilah. "Call a meeting for this afternoon. Everyone in attendance. Tell Quisling I need him to take a meeting with the Mayor and, as much as he hates it, with our crazy friend across town." Trick pulled the string on his pants and they fell to the floor, the black silk puddling at his feet. "Delilah?"  
  
"Yes?" she said, pulling her eyes up to meet his gaze.  
  
"Get started now. I'm going to shower." As she quick-walked out of the room, he grinned. It was a grin fit for a devil.  
  
***  
  
"This isn't the right book." The stocky boy with the angular glasses and lank hair held out the work in question, daring Giles to contradict him.  
  
"Damn." The librarian's epithet was so soft it might merely have been the release of pent-up breath. He shook his head as he went back to the stacks, book in hand. He slid the volume back into place and stood there for a few seconds, eyes closed. Then he took a deep breath, opened his eyes, and went to get the proper book. "Here you go," he said, sliding it across the counter. "Sorry about that."  
  
The boy shrugged. "It's okay." He tucked the book under his arm and left.  
  
"Are you all right?" Lindsay Maeda came out of the office.  
  
"No," Giles said as he turned to her. "I am most definitely not all right."  
  
Lindsay crossed the small space between them. "Mr. Giles, I'm sure that this will all be resolved. I can't believe the Watcher's Council would be swayed by this sort of argument. It has to be a momentary blip. They will come to their senses. They'll realize what a wonderful job you're doing."  
  
Giles looked down into her brown almond eyes. Her expression was one of utter trust and faith. He breathed a heavy sigh. "Ms. Maeda... Lindsay. Exactly what do you know about Gerard?"  
  
Lindsay shrugged. "They use some of his books in training, and I heard a lot of stories about him."  
  
Giles nodded. "Gerard Roland was the envy of everyone in our training group. He was the smartest, the best read, the quickest on his feet, and in a just world he would be Buffy's Watcher."  
  
Lindsay nodded, lips pursed. "The stories usually mention a friend of his, a Rupert Giles."  
  
The librarian squinted as though in pain. "That was a very long time ago. I'm sure the tales have grown quite romantic in the telling. My point is this: If Gerard has a flaw, it is his unfailing optimism. Not only is his glass always half full, there is also a waiter on the way with a pitcher." Giles took a deep breath. "If he was concerned enough to come here without Council sanction to warn us, then I believe the situation is very grave."  
  
Lindsay's brows drew together in puzzlement. "That's what he said."  
  
Giles shook his head. "You misunderstand me. I believe the case is worse than he realizes. It is Gerard's nature to underestimate danger." The librarian leaned back against the counter. "Some of the names he mentioned last night... Some of these people are so noncommittal that they still have a wait and see policy toward the Reformation. If they are even listening to this rubbish, then these extremists already exert a great deal of influence."  
  
The door opened and Gerard Roland entered the library. He wore a denim shirt with the cuffs turned back. He stopped just inside the room and held his arms out wide, smiling as he looked at them. "Ah, Rupert, where else would I find you but in your beloved stacks?"  
  
"Yes, well, it is my job, and one that I'm not doing very well at the moment." Giles glanced at Lindsay.  
  
"Then you should be happy to see me. It is a gorgeous day, and I have come to take you from this dusty repository and treat you to lunch."  
  
Giles nodded and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Thank you for the offer, but I do have a job here and school officials take a very dim view of slipping away in the middle of the day for a leisurely off-campus lunch."  
  
Gerard's eyes twinkled. "Who said anything about a leisurely lunch?"  
  
Giles looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "Your lunches are always leisurely."  
  
"But it is a beautiful day and I have already made plans." Gerard turned to Lindsay. "If I cannot coax Rupert away from his beloved books, might I persuade you to join me?"  
  
Lindsay looked from Gerard to Giles. "Me? I don't... I..."  
  
Giles smiled and shook his head. "Go. I'm terrible company and I'm sure that the meal will be spectacular."  
  
"If you're sure..." Lindsay was already halfway around the desk. "I'll see you later this afternoon."  
  
***  
  
"Miss Rosenberg."  
  
Willow shivered as the nasal buzzsaw of Principal Snyder's voice sliced through her spine. He held a file in his right hand and wore a displeased expression on his face.  
  
"Yes sir?" Willow said.  
  
"Miss Rosenberg, you have participated in our peer tutoring program before. I would like to call on you again."  
  
Willow hugged her books to her. "But Principal Snyder, I'm really busy this year. There are lots of other people in the tutoring program."  
  
"Yes, but you did such an excellent job filling in for Miss Calendar that I think you're the person to call on." Snyder made an attempt at a smile. The result left Willow feeling a little ill. "This case calls for your special talents."   
  
"Someone's failing computer science?"  
  
Snyder smacked the file against his thigh. "He's failing everything. If we keep a score in it, he's below grade. Science, math, history, literature..." Snyder chuckled. "In a perverse way, it's quite an impressive achievement. Even most of the dullards around here have at least one subject they manage to pass."  
  
Willow shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "I'm flattered that you thought of me, but--"  
  
"No buts, Miss Rosenberg." Was it her imagination or did he roll the first 'r' just a little? "Mr. Pittman has already been informed that you will be his tutor." The principal thrust a slip of paper at her. "After school tomorrow, that room." He spun on his heel and marched away. Willow looked at the paper and scowled. She started to crumple it into a ball, then shook her head and slipped it into her pocket.  
  
***  
  
Lindsay leaned back and shook her head, feeling the autumn sunlight warm on her hair. "I had no idea that when you mentioned lunch you were talking about a picnic," she said.  
  
"But a restaurant is so pedestrian." Gerard Roland plucked a grape from its stem and popped it into his mouth. "Soon the weather will be unfit for such an excursion. Already it is too cold in Montreal." He smiled. "And the sun plays so beautifully upon your hair."  
  
"Thank you." Lindsay ducked her head.  
  
"I am sorry. I have embarrassed you." Gerard leaned forward. "Can you forgive me?"  
  
"Don't be silly." Lindsay raised her head and bushed her hair back with one hand. "It was very sweet."  
  
"I simply find myself carried away. Here you are, assigned to a Slayer and so young and beautiful."  
  
An ambivalent smile twitched on Lindsay's lips. "I certainly feel young."  
  
Gerard frowned. "How so?"  
  
Lindsay sighed, staring off into space. "Faith. She needs so much guidance."  
  
"All Slayers need guidance. Without us, their gifts grow untamed and unfocused."  
  
Lindsay shook her head. "Faith is... special. I feel like more than a Watcher or a guide to her. Sometimes... Sometimes I think that I'm the only functional adult she's ever seen. I'm her only example of what she could be."  
  
Gerard nodded. "That must be a great deal of pressure."  
  
Lindsay looked at him. "She thinks I'm so much smarter than I am. Everyone else in her life has failed her. I can't."  
  
Gerard leaned over and placed his hand over hers. "You will not fail her."  
  
Lindsay's laugh was bitter. "I wish I felt that way. I think I've constructed this hard outer shell, this carapace over all my insecurities and fears, that everyone thinks is invulnerable, but I know it's just a thin, brittle barrier. One day it's going to break."  
  
Gerard scooted next to her. It felt so natural for her head to rest on his shoulder as his arm encircled her shoulders. "Do not be afraid," he said. "You are human. Faith will realize that. You are carrying far too much weight upon your shoulders. This is a burden you will not be able to bear."  
  
"Then what do I do?" Lindsay asked.  
  
He looked down at her, at her black, wind-blown hair and her lovely dark eyes. He smiled, a devilish, c'est la vie smile. "You lay it down."  
  
***  
  
Cordelia leaned back and let the hot water pound down on her head. It poured over her hair and ran down her face, plastering her hair against her skull. Steam rose in clouds around her. Rivulets streamed from her shoulders, coursing down her back and sliding along her legs. She scrubbed soap into her skin until she was covered in lather, then bowed her head under the flow and let it sluice away the suds. She began with a fresh bar of Neutrogena; when she was finished it was a slippery, translucent oval. She stayed under the spray until it grew tepid, then she turned the water off and opened the door of the shower stall.  
  
Cordelia wrapped a towel around her head and another around her torso and went into the locker room. Skyler Paine was the only girl left and she was zipping her bag closed. Cordelia dropped her towels and stepped into her underwear as Skyler left. She shook out her hair, then took her dryer from the top shelf of her locker, carried it to the mirror and plugged it into one of the outlets. White noise enveloped her as she began running the fingers of her right hand through her thick tresses. When her hair was almost dry, she switched off the dryer. She stood there, appliance in hand, studying her reflection in the mirror. She tilted her head to one side, then the other before returning to her locker and replacing the dryer on the shelf. She slipped the sleeveless yellow tunnel-neck top over her head and flipped her hair free, then pulled on a pair of flat-front slim-fit navy pants. She sat down on the stool in front of the locker and took out her shoes.  
  
In Cordelia's mind the shoes pretty much told the story of her life at the present moment. Under normal conditions this outfit included a great pair of matching wedgies, but these were not normal conditions. Her feet had healed following her deep-woods ordeal, but the skin was still blotchy. That nixed the sandals. Instead, she was reduced to wearing a pair of navy-blue Adidas Superstars. Not that they were bad shoes, far from it. In fact, if Cordelia were pressed, she would concede that the sneakers gave the ensemble a certain retro-geek-skatepunk-urban slant. Which was all well and good, but these were not the shoes that were supposed to go with this outfit. Cordelia sighed and finished tying the laces, then picked up her backpack to go.  
  
"You still here?" Ms. Hollis came through the door. She wore a gray T-shirt and baggy black shorts. Sweat glistened on her skin and darkened the back and under the arms of the shirt. She reached up and freed her hair from the ponytail she wore, twisting the scrunchie loose in one deft motion. She slipped the elastic band onto her wrist and knelt, fingers working at the knot of her basketball shoes. Cordelia realized that the teacher had tied her keys through the laces. Ms. Hollis noticed the girl's stare.  
  
"Old ghetto trick," she said as she stood. "You never want to leave your keys lying around on the playground." She unlocked the office door. "You want a soda?"  
  
"I'd better get going." Cordelia hitched up her backpack.  
  
"Anything wrong?" Ms. Hollis asked.  
  
"Not that I know of." Cordelia headed for the door.  
  
"Could have fooled me." Ms. Hollis leaned against the door of her office. "You've been distant and snippy in practice and you've practically turned this long-shower-and-leave-last thing into a fetish." She reached up and ruffled her hair, making it fluff into a springy mass.  
  
Cordelia's spine stiffened. "I'm fine."  
  
Ms. Hollis nodded. "You know, it's not weakness to trust your friends when you need them. If something happened to you, you need to get help."  
  
It felt as though a lit match had been shoved up Cordelia's nose and her throat was suddenly clogged by something thick and painful. Her eyes burned. Ms. Hollis's image wavered in front of her. It took all her willpower, but Cordelia somehow swallowed whatever was choking her and managed to croak out, "I don't know what you're talking about."  
  
Matti Hollis nodded. "Well, when you do, I'll be here. In my office." She went inside and closed the door behind her. Cordelia's knees trembled for a moment, then she rushed out of the locker room.  
  



	3. chapter 3

The low rumble of voices rose in pitch and volume as Mr. Trick entered the room. He wore a suit of dark red silk over a black shirt and tie. Delilah followed one stride behind him. Trick stepped up on the low podium and looked out over the conference room. His followers had divided themselves into two groups. The techies, researchers, historians, occult specialists and archaeologists clustered together on his left, occupying about one-third of the room. The much larger group, which filled up the rest of the room, was the tactical unit. Trick stood behind the lectern for a moment, waiting for the buzz to die down. It took longer than he would have liked. As it subsided, he stepped out from behind the lectern, hands in his pockets.  
  
"I know some of you are unhappy," he said. "Well, I'm unhappy, too. I'm not going to lie to you. Things have not gone exactly as planned." He paused, anticipating the swell of complaint that came. "When we took this contract, there was no Slayer on location. Her return was an unforeseen but, I believed, manageable bug in our strategy." He walked behind the lectern, crossing to the other side of the podium, addressing his words to the ceiling. "The arrival of a second Slayer has rendered our contingency plans ineffective. Oh hell, let's be honest. She's blown them higher than a ghetto brother with a forty ounce and a fattie on Friday night." He paused. For a half a heartbeat the room was silent, then a handful of the tac unit laughed. The reaction spread outward in a fast ripple; nothing to bring down the house, but enough to let Trick feel some of the tension ease. He pivoted, turning to face the room.  
  
"I know that they have eliminated the citizens that we have turned. I also know that some of our own people have been taken out. You mourn the passing of your comrades, as do I. I also believe that if we do not change plans this trend will not only continue but worsen. Therefore, I am suspending tonight's operation. I believe we have six newbies scheduled to rise. We are writing them off." He paused again to allow the murmur of surprise to pass. "Is anyone volunteering to go get them?" He looked around the room. No hands rose. "I thought not. We have enough nourishment stockpiled to last for a couple of days. If we need more, well, our blood bank and hospital raids have been extremely successful." He held up a hand to silence groans. "I know, the refrigerated shit is not as good as the real deal straight from a warm vein. Can't be helped.  
  
"We are implementing a new strategy. Since the Mayor brought us to the Hellmouth, we are asking him to shoulder more responsibility. The first phase of the new plan will be his. Also, I'm telling you now to prepare to participate in a joint action with another group."  
  
A voice from the floor bawled out, "You mean the rednecks across town?"  
  
Trick smiled. "I know they're uncultured and unwashed, but they may have their uses."  
  
"Why don't we just make a mass attack and kill the Slayers." Another voice was raised.  
  
Trick nodded. "Good question. First, I'm not sure it would work, at least not in any ratio I'm prepared to live with. I don't want to lose half of you just to kill two girls. Girls who would be replaced by a new Slayer who would be an unknown quantity. I would also remind you that Buffy is not a lone wolf. She has that little crew of misfits with her. Over the years they've turned into a fairly formidable unit just by hanging around."  
  
"So what's our plan?"  
  
Trick smiled. "Our plan is to tear the Slayers' houses down around their ears."  
  
***  
  
Oz noticed the commotion when he was halfway up Devon's driveway. The other members of Dingoes were gathered around something. "What's up?" he asked as he entered. The guys looked at him, then stepped aside.  
  
Trey Garcia stood over an open guitar case. His big hands cradled a cherry-red Gibson Howard Roberts. He grinned as he noodled a quick Chuck Berry/Keith Richards riff.  
  
"Yours?" Oz said.  
  
"You know it. I got a sweet deal." Trey snapped off a twangy open-A lick. Unplugged the guitar sounded small and trebly. Trey ran a hand through his long black hair, pick still grasped between thumb and forefinger.  
  
"It's nice," Oz said as he put down his Telecaster case. He turned to Devon. "We better rehearse."  
  
"Yeah, yeah, we're going to, but first I think we oughta take care of some band business." Devon's head bobbed up and down like one of those weird dolls.  
  
"Business?" Oz looked up from where he squatted beside his guitar.  
  
"Yeah." Devon sat down on a speaker cabinet. "Engines of Industry officially broke up."  
  
"Yeah?" Oz's forehead puckered.  
  
Devon nodded. "Yeah, and I thought we could ask Trey to join us on a permanent basis."  
  
"Really." Oz stood up, rubbing his hands down his thighs. "Is this a forum or a formality?"  
  
Devon frowned. "Huh?"  
  
Trey shifted uncomfortably. "If you guys got issues, I can take a walk."  
  
"Why?" Doug leaned against the wall, arms folded across his chest. "It's about how the band sounds, isn't it? We sound better when you play. We can do more stuff. Far as I'm concerned, it's a done deal."  
  
Oz stared at Doug. The bass player stared back. "Geoff?" Oz said.  
  
"I'm down with it." The drummer twirled a stick between his fingers. "We're crazy better with him."  
  
Oz nodded, running his tongue around his teeth. "Well," he said to Trey, "welcome to Dingoes Ate My Baby." His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he extended his hand.  
  
***  
  
Xander leaned against the exterior wall of the Bronze and scanned the street. A steady stream of students trickled into the club; his gaze flicked across the groups and concentrated on the individuals. He had been here for a while. Maybe it was time to go in.  
  
That's when he saw her walking toward him, passing through the pools of light cast by the street lamps, making each one look like a spotlight. He pushed away from the wall and turned toward her.  
  
"I was afraid you weren't coming," he said.  
  
Cordelia's upper lip curled. "I seriously thought about it."  
  
"Thought about passing up the Bronze? A chance to see and be seen?" He touched the back of his hand to her forehead. She jerked her head away.  
  
"What are you doing?" she asked.  
  
"Checking for fever. You might be delirious." He nodded toward the door. "Shall we enter, m'lady?"  
  
Cordelia tried to put on a sour face. "Well, since I'm already here..."  
  
"Ah, that's the spirit." He extended his hand. Cordelia hesitated, then reached out and laced her fingers through his.  
  
***  
  
"Damn, that's unsatisfying." Faith looked as though she'd bitten into something very unpleasant.  
  
Buffy shrugged, looking at the dust drifting away on the night breeze. "I think six is pretty good."  
  
"Please. These vamps belonged on the short bus."  
  
Buffy turned to the dark-haired Slayer. "It's pretty obvious they were just risen."  
  
"Duh, you think?" Faith made a flicking gesture with one hand. "They still had dirt in their hair."  
  
Buffy shoveled stakes and supplies into the Slayer bag. "Hey, it's that time of year. I'm thankful for a night of easy vamp killing." She looked at Faith. "Speaking of which, what are you and Lindsay doing for Thanksgiving?"  
  
Faith shrugged, her mood still surly. "Hell if I know."  
  
"Well, if Lindsay doesn't have any special plans, you guys are officially invited to the Summers house."  
  
Faith blinked, then smiled. "Hey, thanks. I'll tell Linz." She tossed her head. "You wanna swing by the Bronze?"  
  
Buffy thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Not tonight. You go on. I'm going to make sure everything's cool here, then I'll probably go home."  
  
Faith raised her hand. "Keep it cool, B." She disappeared into the night. Buffy watched her go.  
  
"That was so sweet."  
  
Buffy stiffened at the sound of the voice, then made a slow turn to face the speaker.  
  
"Angel. I'm surprised to see you here."  
  
He leaned against the trunk of a tree, his dark clothing indistinguishable from its bulk, his pale face seeming to float in midair. He looked to his left, then back at Buffy. "I was just out taking a stroll. I can't do it during the afternoon. Oh, wait, you know that."  
  
Buffy's shoulders slumped as she closed her eyes. "Is there a point to this or are we just going to rip on each other?"  
  
Angel pushed away from the tree and crossed the distance between them. His stride was fluid and easy. Buffy's eyes opened as he drew near. Her weight shifted, her right foot slipped back just bit and her shoulders turned. He stopped and stared at her through narrowed eyes.  
  
"Relax," he said. "Why so tense?"  
  
Her posture changed not a whit. "Why are you here? Our last conversation made it pretty clear that I'm not your favorite person."  
  
He rocked up on his toes for a second then dropped back on his heels. "I never said that."  
  
"Don't." Buffy shook her head. "Don't jerk me around like this. I--"  
  
"What?" he said. "You don't deserve it?"  
  
"I don't. I know that you suffered, but I suffered too. Every night I had dreams, and every day I carried the burden of what I had to do."  
  
"Suffering?" Angel's voice climbed. "I'd share what I went through with you, but there aren't words in human language to describe that kind of pain."  
  
"I had all the pain I could bear," Buffy said, her voice a near-whisper. "Don't you dare act as though I sang and danced through everything. I'll never be the same."  
  
Angel rubbed a hand along his jaw. "Funny, neither will I." He turned and took two steps then turned back. "You should be careful."  
  
"I'm always careful."  
  
Angel shook his head. "I've watched you and Faith fight. You're starting to get sloppy."  
  
"Excuse me?" Buffy cocked her head.  
  
"Not your skills."   
  
Buffy's face flushed with anger. "Then where?"  
  
He was silent for a moment then he touched his temple. "Up here. The two of you are starting to think that you can handle whatever comes at you, no questions asked. You're starting to believe that you're invulnerable."  
  
Buffy's mouth set in a thin line. "I've been vulnerable for too long."  
  
Angel shrugged. "Just thinking out loud. Word to the wise, you know." He turned away again and his last words floated back to her on the night breezes. "I'll see you around."   
  
***  
  
Xander flopped down on the sofa. Cordelia kept a more dignified posture as she took her seat. He wiped a hand across his forehead. It came away glistening. He held it out to Cordelia.  
  
"Hot on the dance floor," he said.  
  
"Ewwwww," she said, pulling away. "What next? Showing me the stuff between your toes?"  
  
"Nah. I don't feel like taking off my shoes." He leaned back. "Don't look now, but bogies at ten o'clock."  
  
"What?" Cordelia frowned. He pointed past her as Harmony came out of the crowd, followed by Aura and Keely.  
  
Harmony stopped when she saw them. Feet planted and hands on hips, she looked them over, then turned to the Harmonaires. "Look. It's the king and queen of Loserville."  
  
"Gee," Xander said, "those seem like awfully grand titles for a town. Shouldn't it be more like the Mayor and, oh, the City Manager of Loserville?"  
  
Harmony's forehead scrunched up. "Huh?"  
  
"Well, kings and queens usually rule over a much larger area than just a town or city."  
  
"God, Harris, are you retarded or something?" Harmony pouted for a minute, then turned on her heel and disappeared into the herd, her cronies close behind her.  
  
"I don't know about you," Xander said, "but I'm ready to go."  
  
"Amen," Cordelia said.  
  
They went around the pool tables and headed for the door. Xander saw someone waving out of the corner of his eye. He turned and spotted Faith. She dropped her hand and glided toward them.  
  
"Xander!" she said as she drew close, drawing out the last syllable of his name. "What's up?"  
  
He shrugged. "Nothing, really."  
  
"You guys leaving?"  
  
He nodded. "Yeah. How about you?"  
  
She shook her head. "No way. Just got here."  
  
"Well, have a good time." Xander put his hand on Cordelia's shoulder.  
  
Faith winked. "You know it." She moved back toward the dance floor, already swaying in time to the music. Xander kept a hand on Cordelia's back as they left the club. They had gone only a short distance when he noticed Cordelia shiver.  
  
"Here," he said, peeling his sweater over his head. "Put this on." He held it out to her.  
  
"I'm fine." She waved it away.  
  
"I know you're cold," he said, pushing it toward her. "I'm okay. I've got my T-shirt."  
  
She looked at the sweater for a moment, then took it from him. It hung almost to her knees and she had to roll the sleeves up, but it was warm. "Thanks," she said as she pulled her hair free from the collar.  
  
"Hey, no big," he said, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "So, what are you doing for Thanksgiving?"  
  
Cordelia shrugged. The movement was almost invisible inside the large sweater. "Flying to Aspen on Friday morning. Skiing Friday afternoon, Saturday, and Sunday morning, then back to dear old Sunnydale on Sunday night."  
  
"But you're going to be here for Thanksgiving?"  
  
"Yeah, but--" She turned on him. "Xander, is this leading up to some suggestion that I come to your house for Thanksgiving or vice-versa?"  
  
Xander scratched his ear. "I'm not sure how my house could come to you for Thanksgiving, but you can rest easy. I'm not about to invite you to my house for the holiday." He chuckled. "We don't exactly celebrate the traditional Thanksgiving, unless the Puritans also practiced the ritual of falling asleep drunk in front of the TV and just forgot to write it down." They walked in silence for a space, then Xander cleared his throat. "I was going to hint that I wouldn't mind coming to your house."  
  
Cordelia stopped. "Xander, why is this such a big deal?"  
  
"Cor, I realize that we're not like every other couple in town. Believe me when I say that I'm aware of the vast gulf between us. But we've been dating almost a year and I've never been to your house. I've never met your family."  
  
"So? I've never met yours."  
  
Xander blinked. "Yes, but in my defense I must point out that my family completely and irrevocably insane."  
  
Cordelia looked at him for a moment, a deep hurt visible in her eyes. "Maybe they're not the only ones." She walked away from him, arms folded in front of her and head down.  
  
He had to run to catch up. "Cor, wait," he said, grabbing her by the shoulder. "What's wrong?"  
  
"I'm fine." She reached up to dislodge a stand of hair, blown across her face by the night breeze.  
  
Xander looked at her, his face grave. "No, you're not. You haven't been since you disappeared. What happened?"  
  
Cordelia looked up at the night sky then back at him. "Xander, don't. I just need space."  
  
"See, there's where I think you're wrong. I don't think you need space. I think you need a lack of space. Non-space. I'm talking about you and me together like the clowns in that little car at the circus." He stepped closer. "I think that's what you need." He reached out and she stepped away. For a heartbeat, his fist clenched in frustration, then he opened his hand and let it fall. He rubbed his hands across his face. "I want to be there for you. I really do, but I don't know where 'there' is. Right now, I couldn't find 'there' with a map and a flashlight. Cor, I want to help, but you've got to let me in."  
  
She looked away, her hair drifting in the wind. When she looked back her face had a hard, angry look. "Are you going to fix me, Xander? Is that what this is about? Some little do-good quest?"  
  
His mouth gaped. "No, that's not... I just... We're dating. You're my girlfriend. I just... I want to be whatever help I can be. It's sort of implied in the relationship."  
  
Her lips trembled. "And what if it's more than you can handle, Xander. What then?"  
  
He stared into her eyes and his voice was steady. "I'd at least like the chance to find out."  
  
She blinked. "Sorry. Not good enough." She turned and walked away, head down and arms hugging her body.  
  
"Wait," Xander called. She did not turn around. "That's my sweater," he said in a confused voice. He watched her grow smaller. He took one step to follow her then shook his head.  
  
"Forget about it," he said. "I don't need this."  
  
***  
  
Willow looked at the book one last time. Her lips moved slightly as she repeated the words to herself. She nodded and pushed the book aside.  
  
She turned her full attention to her desk. A paper cup held an ice cube. Willow licked her lips and began to murmur the words of the spell, her attention focused on the cup. Thoughts tried to push in--Are you getting the words right? Shouldn't you be studying? What's Oz doing? What would this look like if it worked? She pushed them out of her mind. Her focus must be clear and pure, unclouded by outside stimuli.  
  
Her eyes itched. She wanted to blink, or rub them, but she willed herself to keep focused. The cup sat there, unchanged...  
  
There was an ephemeral glow. It surrounded the cup for a nanosecond then disappeared. Willow gasped. A flame shot out of the cup, a small blue flame, undeniably real. Willow's face nearly cracked from the grin that exploded across it.  
  
That's when she realized that the cup had caught fire. Hands flapping, she jumped to her feet, looking around. Nothing presented itself immediately. She grabbed the smoldering cup and turned it upside down to try and smother it. One of the side effects of the fire from ice spell was that unlocking the fire dissolved the ice. Water poured out of the cup onto her desk. The flame extinguished. Willow stared at her desk, at the water running across its surface, at the bits of ash in the water, at the ruined cup. The bitter smell of smoke hung in the air. Willow waved a hand in front of her face.  
  
"Okay, note to self," she said. "Next time, better preparation."  
  
***  
  
Buffy grasped the phone on her third try. She struggled to sit up in bed as she brought the receiver to her ear. "H'lo," she mumbled.  
  
"Buffy, Lindsay's not here." Faith sounded panicky and shaken.  
  
"What? Faith? Where are you?" Buffy snapped on the lamp beside her bed, blinking in the sudden illumination.  
  
"At the motel. I just got home. Lindsay's not here."  
  
Buffy fumbled for the clock. "You just got home at... 2:30 am? Uh, maybe... maybe she just went to get something to eat."  
  
"No way. Her bed's still made. Something's wrong." Faith's voice was edging toward hysteria.  
  
"Faith." Buffy's tone was sharp and severe. "Get a grip. I'll call Giles and we'll be there. Sit tight, okay?" She broke the connection and tapped in the Watcher's number.  
  
"Hello, Giles? Yeah, I know what time it is. It's real important. Faith says Lindsay's missing."  
  
***  
  
Faith was bouncing off the walls when Buffy stepped inside Unit #6 of the ValleyView. The dark-haired Slayer grabbed her jacket.  
  
"Great," she said. "You're here. Let's go."  
  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoaaaaaaaa." Buffy grabbed her by the arm. "I called Giles. He's on his way over."  
  
"No way. I'm not waiting. I gotta find Lindsay." Faith tried to pull away.  
  
Buffy held on tight. "He'll be here in a few minutes. Chill."  
  
Faith's eyes sparked and Buffy barely got her arm up in time to block the punch. She got in close and wrapped the taller girl up in a bear hug. One of Faith's arms was free and Buffy felt the blows raining down on her back. "Faith," she shouted, "calm down! Just calm down!" The punches slowed, softened, and ceased. Buffy held on tight, tensed for the furor to resume. She felt Faith trembling and realized that the other Slayer was crying.  
  
"What's going on?"  
  
Buffy realized that she hadn't closed the door. She peered around Faith's ribs. Giles stood in the open doorway, a confused look on his face and his hair sticking up in disarray. Buffy untangled herself from Faith with great care. She embraced the girl in a more conventional hug. Faith's head rested on her shoulder, an awkward pose given the difference in their heights. She felt the hot tears soaking into her shirt.  
  
She looked at Giles. "Little panic attack. Lindsay's missing. We need to come up with a plan."  
  
"No need. Ms. Maeda will be here shortly." The look on Giles's face was so strange and unreadable that Buffy frowned in puzzlement. The Watcher crossed the room and took Faith by the shoulders. He peeled her away from Buffy and guided her to a chair. "Would you fetch a wet cloth?" he said. Buffy shrugged and went into the bathroom. Giles took the cold washcloth from her and handed it to Faith. The dark-haired girl began wiping her eyes. Giles guided Buffy toward the door.  
  
"Giles, what's going on?" Buffy said. Giles did not reply. Instead he went outside. Buffy glanced at Faith, then at Giles. He stood on the sidewalk, one foot tapping. He pushed back the sleeve of his jacket to check his watch. Headlights cruised down the street and turned into the ValleyView. The Ford Taurus parked in front of #6. The front doors opened. Gerard Roland got out of the driver's door and stretched. A disheveled-looking Lindsay Maeda slammed the passenger door closed and rushed past Giles. Buffy stepped out onto the concrete stoop. Lindsay pushed past her. Giles did not look happy as he approached Gerard Roland. The tall Watcher grinned at his old friend. Buffy looked at Giles, then glanced through the open door. Lindsay had dragged the other chair over to sit by Faith. The dark Slayer had her eyes closed and one hand on her forehead. Buffy looked back at Giles and Roland. The two body languages could not have been more different. Giles was stiff and straight, his gesture sharp and angular. Gerard shrugged, looking unconcerned. Buffy looked back inside the room, then at the two Watchers, and the penny dropped.  
  
"Uh-oh," she said in a soft voice.  
  
***  
  



	4. chapter 4

Xander saw Cordelia at her locker and began to drift across the crowded hallway toward her. He was halfway there when he hesitated. Perhaps it was the rigid set of her spine, maybe it was the jerky motions of her arms as she slammed books into the locker. He curled back out into the flow and let it carry him past her.  
  
Buffy watched the entire sequence from the far end of the hallway, fascinated by its perverse geometry. She caught Xander's eye as he drew near. He ducked his head, but not before she made a beckoning motion.  
  
"What's with?" she said. "Did you and Cordelia get your poles aligned?"  
  
"If that's some sort of sleazy carnal innuendo, I'm both offended and intrigued," he said.  
  
"No, you dummy. I meant like magnets. You know, like poles together, the magnets push apart? Oh, forget it." She waved a hand. "Allusions are no fun when you have to explain them."  
  
"Forgive my density," he said.  
  
Buffy shook her head. "Forget that. Are you and Cordelia on the outs?"  
  
Xander opened his mouth, looked around, and closed it without saying a word. He tugged at his shirt, a vertically striped gold and blue rayon number. "Not here," he said. "Come on."  
  
Buffy blinked. "Lead on McDuff."  
  
They ducked into an empty classroom. Buffy leaned against the teacher's desk. Xander began pacing the length of the room. He completed two circuits before Buffy cleared her throat. "Are we going to talk or am I just supposed to watch you and divine what's wrong?"  
  
Xander stopped in the middle of the room. "Something is wrong."  
  
"You still having problems with the whole virgin thing?"  
  
Xander shook his head. "No. Well, okay, no but... It's a qualified no. I mean, that's important to Cordelia."  
  
"And you're cool with it," Buffy said.  
  
Xander shrugged. "I'm not saying it's my favorite facet of our relationship, but at least I know why we're not having sex. It's her, I don't know, her standard." He bit his lower lip. "But that's not what's bothering me, at least not right now. It's kind of been back-burnered. Something happened to her when those death-cult jackasses had her. She hasn't been the same since, but I don't know what they did."  
  
Buffy thought for a moment. "You've mentioned it?"  
  
Xander nodded. "I've broached the subject."  
  
"What did she say?"  
  
"After she finished covering her ears and singing the Smurfs theme song at top volume, she ignored me."  
  
"How..." Buffy stopped and coughed. "Have you... God, I so don't know how to ask this... What's the physical sitch between you guys?"  
  
Xander shoved his hands in his pockets. "I've pretty much declared a moratorium on touchies and smoochies. Quick good-night kiss is about it."  
  
"That's probably a good idea." Buffy chewed on her lip. "You know it was probably something sexual."  
  
"I thought it might be."  
  
"Can you deal?"  
  
Xander threw up his hands. "Buff, this really isn't about my tortured psyche. You make it sound like I'm worried that she's cheating on me." He rolled his eyes. "Give me some credit here. I'm not a totally insensitive sicko." He scuffed his shoe on the floor. "I, uh, I know that our dating is completely weird--"  
  
"I'd go beyond weird. I'd say it defies the laws of God and man."  
  
"Thank you for taking that shot." Xander looked out the window. "I really do care about her, Buffy. There's more to her than I thought."  
  
"I think we all knew that."  
  
Xander shook his head. "I don't think we did. I thought I understood Cordelia as well as anybody could, but even before the... thing, I realized that I didn't. And now I want to help and she won't let me."  
  
Buffy pushed away from the desk and stood very close to him. "Xander, do you ever wonder what happened to me while I was... away?"  
  
He frowned. "Yeah."  
  
"But you've never really asked. Why is that?"  
  
He shrugged. "Because I thought you'd tell us what we ought to know when we ought to know it. At least that's what Willow told me to think."  
  
She smiled at him. "And I love you guys for that. That's what you have to do with Cordelia. Give her time." Buffy reached up and touched his cheek. "She's lucky to have a guy like you."  
  
He smiled. "I tell myself that, but I like the way it sounds when you say it."  
  
***  
  
Giles froze at the sound of the door opening behind him. His back tightened and he kept his attention focused on his hands, which rested on the counter. He concentrated on keeping his breathing even and normal.  
  
"So, am I being taken to the woodshed?" Lindsay asked.  
  
"Why would you think that?" Giles kept his back to her.  
  
"Well, you seemed pretty put out last night."  
  
Giles stooped and lifted a stack of books to the counter. "I was rather displeased."  
  
"But today everything's cool?"  
  
"Yes," Giles said.  
  
"Wow." Lindsay shook her head. "Just like that?"  
  
Giles shrugged. "As the students say, I got over it."  
  
"Hmm." Lindsay shoved her fists into the pockets of her fawn-colored jacket. "I guess I thought there was some sort of Watcher rule against this sort of thing."  
  
"No, not a rule, but I would advise you to be more responsible in the future."  
  
Lindsay nodded. "It was kind of spur of the moment. I should have called Faith."  
  
Giles tugged at his earlobe. "That would be wise. Her emotions seem very fragile and she is extremely attached to you."  
  
"Is that why you were upset?" Lindsay tilted her head to one side.  
  
Giles opened his mouth, then closed it and took a deep breath. "Why I was angry is not the issue." He turned away. Lindsay stared at his back for a moment, then pivoted on her heel and walked out of the library.  
  
***  
  
Mr. Quisling picked a microscopic fleck of lint from the thigh of his trousers. The suit was a single-breasted worsted that from one angle looked black, from another deep navy blue and from a third perhaps charcoal-gray. His shirt was a brilliant white and freshly laundered. Quisling loved Egyptian cotton shirts with a passion bordering on eroticism. He was even enamored of the way they wrinkled, of the myriad tiny creases that formed in the crook of the elbow and at the waist. His tie was silver-gray with a fine black diagonal stripe.  
  
The phone buzzed. The receptionist picked up the receiver, listened, then replaced the instrument in its cradle. The smile she turned toward Quisling was as bland and professional as a massage parlor handshake. "He'll see you now," she said.  
  
The Mayor stood behind his desk, looking out of the window. The pose would have been more dramatic if his office had overlooked something grander than the parking lot. Quisling stood in the center of the room, feet shoulder-width apart, weight distributed evenly. He did not shift or fidget. The Mayor continued to look out the window. Quisling continued to stand. He could stand there for the rest of the day if need be.  
  
"I hope this is a progress report, but something tells me it isn't," the Mayor said. He turned from the window and sat behind his desk. Quisling sat in one of the visitors' chairs. He tilted one foot up to examine the shine on his cap-toe oxfords.  
  
"No," he said when he was satisfied that his footwear was up to snuff. "Mr. Trick did instruct me to assure you that our work continues unabated and that we are making progress. That is not the primary purpose of this visit, however."  
  
The Mayor leaned back in his chair and rubbed his hands together. "I have a sneaking suspicion that you have something to ask me."  
  
Quisling inclined his head toward the desk. "You are very astute. As you are well aware, we are now faced with not one but two Slayers. This has taken a toll on our tactical force and calls for a change in strategy." Mr. Quisling smiled at the Mayor. "I understand that you have some pets."  
  
***  
  
Willow stopped in the middle of the hallway and checked the number above the door. Room 222. This was where she was supposed to meet her pupil. She took a deep breath, shook her head and pushed open the door.  
  
He was alone in the room, seated in a desk in the far corner. Willow stopped and tried not to stare. Willow had never thought of herself as one of the better-looking people in school, but compared to this guy, she felt like Julia Roberts in a Versace gown.  
  
It started with his hair. If it were a quarter-inch longer, it would be a buzz-cut; a quarter-inch shorter and it would be shaved. It was neither, just a dark stubble covering his skull. The ears would have been prominent regardless, but the haircut did not do them any favors. Freckles scattered across his forehead and both cheeks. Below the neck it got worse. He was the skinniest person Willow had ever seen. His arms looked like pencils protruding from the sleeves of his plaid shirt. His elbows looked like baseballs stuffed into a stocking. It occurred to Willow that between the haircut and the arms, he could make a good living posing for famine-relief posters.  
  
He turned his head and looked at her. Willow blinked. His eyes were a beautiful liquid brown with long, graceful lashes.  
  
"Excuse me," she said. "Are you Tyler Pittman?"  
  
"Yeah," he said in thick twangy drawl that Willow couldn't place, but which she was sure had not originated within five hundred miles of Sunnydale. "You my tutor?" To Willow's ears it sounded like "Yew mah tooter?"  
  
"I'm Willow Rosenberg." She put her books on the teacher's desk. "What subject do you want start with?"  
  
He slouched down in his seat. "Don't matter. You're wastin' your time."  
  
Willow nodded. "Well, Principal Snyder told me I had to be your tutor, so let's give it a shot."  
  
"You give it a shot. I don't need tutoring."  
  
Willow scrunched up her nose. "Your GPA says otherwise."  
  
"Who gives a rat's ass about GPA? I know the material."  
  
Willow pursed her lips. "Then why are your grades so bad?"  
  
He threw up his hands. They looked like flyswatters at the end of his scrawny arms. "Grades just mean you know how to suck up to the teacher. I'll bet you get good grades, don't you?"  
  
"Well, yeah, I--"  
  
"And I'll bet every teacher in this school thinks that you're just the best little girl out there." He looked as though he might spit. "All you grade suck-ups look the same. Makes me wonder about the chicken and the egg."  
  
Willow wanted to throw an eraser at him, but that would probably be bad tutor etiquette. "Okay, you say you know the material. Let's, let's put your money where your mouth is. At the battle of Waterloo, Napoleon--"  
  
"Napoleon was defeated at Waterloo because General Grouchy followed an allied feint toward the Prussian border and because there was no infantry support for Marshal Ney's cavalry charge that broke the British line. Oh, and they forgot to spike the British artillery when they overran it."  
  
Willow blinked. "Okay. Well, let's try science..."  
  
***  
  
Quisling hesitated before stepping up on the decrepit porch. A small analytical wedge of his mind contemplated his extreme negative reaction to this place. Certainly the inhabitants' uncouth practices contributed to his distaste, but in a moment of rare and complete honesty Quisling had to admit that a large portion, perhaps the majority of his animosity was because the place reminded him of home.  
  
One of the planks groaned as he placed his weight on it. What a perfect simile, Quisling thought. He knocked on the door again. This time the door was opened by a woman, or by what used to be a woman. She looked Quisling over from top to bottom, then stepped aside. He entered, wincing as he saw the same drab, decrepit room as the last time. Then he noticed one change. "Got rid of the crossbow?"  
  
The female vamp shrugged. Her face held even less expression. "You know the way."  
  
"Indeed I do." Once again he descended the stairs. This time the light was on. He noticed the stocky vampire with the missing fingers and the nasty scar. Their eyes met.  
  
"New guard upstairs," Quisling said.  
  
Coyne grunted. "Told you LePage wouldn't last long."  
  
Quisling motioned toward the interior door. "Is he in?"  
  
Coyne nodded. "He's expecting you." A brutish grin twisted the unscarred side of the vampire's face. Quisling nodded and crossed to the door. He rapped lightly with the back of his knuckles. A strange, bitter odor filled his nostrils.  
  
The familiar, sepulchral voice came from the other side. "Come in." Quisling pushed open the door. The Reverend's inner sanctum was permeated with an acrid smell. Charcoal from the brazier in one corner accounted for part of the stench, but that was overlaid with an odd aroma that reminded Quisling of childhood Sunday afternoons when his father grilled hamburgers. He hurried to push that memory out of his mind.  
  
The Reverend Othniel Hampton sat in his rocking chair, looking as still and hard as the wood itself. Only his eyes moved to look at Quisling or rather, his left eye moved to follow Quisling. The right one sort of focused on a point somewhere to Quisling's left. The Reverend stood, a motion at once fluid and weighted with antiquity.  
  
"Thank you for seeing me," Quisling said. "It is very gracious of you to admit me again."  
  
"Sweet words," the Reverend said. "I fear they will lay in my belly like gravel."  
  
Quisling smiled. "A cautious man is a wise man. I would ask you to trust me, but I believe that would be a waste of my time."  
  
A corner of Othniel Hampton's mouth twitched. "It would. I assume this is not a social call. What is your purpose?"  
  
Quisling rubbed his hands together. "We are both suffering under the present situation. Two Slayers, working in concert, has never occurred before, at least not in recorded history. They are inflicting a heavy toll on each of our organizations."  
  
"I do not have an organization." The Reverend sat down and began to rock. "My followers are not afraid."  
  
"I'm sure they are not. Your followers look tough and seasoned, but I cannot help noticing that there are fewer of them than the last time I was here."  
  
"The weak falter and are sent to their final destination. The worthy survive and create more like themselves. It is not a tragedy. It is the way that the weak are separated from the strong."  
  
Quisling nodded. "Well spoken. Still, the Slayers afflict us both. We both desire to be rid of them. Mr. Trick has sent me here with a proposal."  
  
The chair stopped in mid-rock. "Your master sends his lap-dog to me to flatter and cajole. You should come to the point."  
  
It required a great effort for Quisling's face to remain still and calm. "Mr. Trick has formulated a plan to rid us of the Slayers. I have been sent to ask for your cooperation."  
  
Othniel Hampton's eyes burned like hot coals as he stared at Quisling. "Why should I work with your master? He is but a child."  
  
Quisling nodded. "True. But when the Slayers are dead, we have no desire to rule over the Hellmouth. Our only wish is to complete our contract and move on. Sunnydale will be yours."  
  
"Sunnydale is mine already." The Reverend's voice was thick with contempt as he flung the words at Quisling.  
  
"But it will be yours without a Slayer," Quisling said.  
  
The Reverend began to rock. His right hand stroked his chin as he slouched down in the seat. The chair creaked. Quisling stood, unmoving as he felt sweat begin to gather at his collar.  
  
***  
  
"Hey," Buffy said as she waltzed through the kitchen door.  
  
"Hey yourself," Joyce Summers replied. "How was your day?"  
  
"Oh..." Buffy attempted to smother a gigantic yawn. "Whoa. Oh, I asked Faith and she said that they'll come to Thanksgiving dinner."  
  
Joyce nodded. "You certainly seem to have become good friends."  
  
Buffy took an apple from the bowl on the cabinet. "Yeah, I guess so. I mean, we do have the whole shared Slayer-thing." Buffy bit into the apple. "What I'm saying is, Willow's been great; nobody could ask for a better friend. But Faith and me, it's like we're hard-wired into each other, y'know?"  
  
"Sort of." Joyce gave her daughter a quick hug. "I was worried about you. You were so mopy and sad. But that's changed."  
  
"Yeah. The Slaying gig seems to make a lot more sense these days." Buffy swallowed and gave her mother a light kiss on the cheek. "I'm gonna hit the books. We have to patrol later. I love you." She grabbed her books from the table and rushed out of the kitchen.  
  
***  
  
Cordelia opened the front door, cupping her keys in her hand to prevent jingling. She stopped just inside the door and listened. The house was quiet, which was not unusual. She hesitated for a moment, then tossed the mail onto the hall table. It landed with a smack and a shush as it slid across the polished marble. The house remained still, so she assumed her parents must be out. She crossed the foyer and went up the stairs to her room.  
  
She put her books down on the desk and turned. As she did her gaze fell on Xander's sweater, the one she'd worn home from the Bronze. It lay on the floor, kicked partially under the bed. Cordelia picked it up.  
  
It was just another of Xander's awful sweaters, frayed in places and the hem and cuffs stretched out. It smelled like him. Not like some awful cheap cologne, but like Xander himself. Cordelia stood there, lost in thought with the garment wadded between her hands.  
  
Why not call him? Why not tell him? She realized that she was twisting the sweater into knots. She sat down and looked at the phone on her bedside table. Like everything else in the room it was color-coordinated and decorator-approved. All she had to do was reach out, pick it up, and tap in seven digits.  
  
She looked up from the phone and saw herself in the mirror. That was the girl Xander thought he was dating, the girl in the mirror. As Cordelia stared at her reflection she had a quick, chilling mental flash. She saw herself confiding in Xander, then she saw him talking to Buffy.  
  
Mirror-girl's face hardened. The last thing she needed was for Buffy to know her business. Cordelia turned away. She folded the sweater and placed it on the bed, then picked up a textbook.  
  
Homework. Something productive and task-oriented. That's what she needed.  
  
***  
  
"Why so grumpy?" Willow said as she looked down at Oz.  
  
"What makes you think I'm grumpy?" Oz asked. "I could be moody."  
  
Willow shook her head. "I've seen you moody. I've seen you taciturn, I've seen you reticent, and once I've even seen you truculent, and you're grumpy today."  
  
"Couldn't I be Sneezy or Doc?" he said.  
  
"Okay," she said. "If that's how you want to be." She pushed his shoulders and slid to her right. Deprived of the pillow of her legs, his head thumped down on the couch cushions. He tried to turn and look at her, flailed his arms for a moment as his balance left him, and ended up flopping onto the floor.  
  
"You don't seem amused," Oz said from his prone position.  
  
"That's because I'm not," Willow said as she rose from the sofa and crossed the room.  
  
"Care to share?" Oz said, clambering to his feet.  
  
"You're not sharing with me," Willow said in an accusatory tone.  
  
Oz nodded. "You're right." He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stand up even more. "Okay, the deal is, we asked Trey to become a permanent member of Dingoes today."  
  
Willow frowned. "But isn't that a good thing? I mean, he's a great player, isn't he?"  
  
Oz made a hunching motion with his shoulders. "Yeah, he is. It's just..." He looked away and when he looked back his eyes were filled with something Willow had not seen before. "He's better than me. He can play things I can't play, that I'll never be able to play. He's great... and he's going to take my band away from me."  
  
"Oh, Oz." Willow rushed across the room and threw her arms around him. "Dingoes could never go on without you."  
  
"They could," Oz said, his voice muffled by her sweater. "I think they might."  
  
"I know how you feel." Willow sniffled, holding back hot, sudden tears. "Buffy's spending all her time with Faith and it's like, hey, I was here first." She felt Oz stiffen in her arms. "Did I say something wrong?"  
  
"No," he whispered. "Do you hear howling?"  
  



	5. chapter 5

***  
  
Buffy dragged herself up the stairs and stumbled into her room. Her bleary eyes struggled to focus on the clock. The numerals read 3:12 AM. Even by Slayer standards this was a late night. She was covered in vamp dust, dirt, and dried sweat. A shower would be nice. She flopped onto the bed for a few minutes rest.  
  
"Buffy... Buffy." The Slayer struggled towards consciousness like a swimmer surfacing in a sea of molasses. Why was her mom shaking her? Why was Joyce awake at 3:30 AM? Why was she saying "Mr. Giles is on the phone?"  
  
Buffy blinked her grit-filled eyes and tried to pry her parched tongue free from the roof of her mouth. The clock didn't read 3:30; it was 6:15. She looked down. She still wore her patrolling clothes. She picked up the phone.  
  
"Yeah?" she croaked.  
  
"Buffy, I need to see you before school," Giles said.  
  
The Slayer tried to swallow. "Sure, Giles. I've had three hours sleep. I'm rarin' to go."  
  
The gravity in Giles's voice was like cold water in her face. "I'm sorry, but this is an urgent situation."  
  
Buffy ran a hand over her features. "I'll be there. Just let me shower." She hung up the phone and sighed.  
  
***  
  
Giles was in full-alert mode when she arrived. He already had the maps on the table, the pencils sharpened, and the books piled on the counter.  
  
Buffy staggered to a chair and collapsed. "What is it, Giles?"  
  
"About last night--" he began.  
  
"I know. Busy night. Lots of vamps. I was there." She yawned and winced. "I'm always there."  
  
Giles straightened. "Have you seen the final body count?" he asked, his voice a little snippy.  
  
"Body count? What body count?" Buffy sat upright. Giles gestured toward the map. It was festooned with clusters of red dots.  
  
"Each dot represents a fatality. As you can--"  
  
"Giles, a little credit here. I didn't think that each dot was a frozen custard stand." Buffy leaned forward, studying the map. "Faith and I patrolled mostly here--" she pointed to a tract between two of the clusters "-and some here." She tapped an area south of the smallest clump of dots.  
  
Giles stared at the map as though by looking hard enough he could divine some deeper meaning. He rubbed a hand along his jaw. "Did you notice anything unusual?"  
  
"Shuh, yeah. A whole lot more vampires for one thing." Buffy frowned. "Although now that I see it on the map..."  
  
"What?" Giles asked.  
  
"The vamps were different. We've been getting newbies, the occasional toughie in the mix. Last night, they were all bad."  
  
"How so?" Giles bent forward slightly.  
  
Buffy shrugged, frowning. "All veterans. These--" she tapped the western grouping of dots "-were Trick's and these--" she indicated "-were the Reverend's."  
  
"How can you be sure?" Giles looked at the map.  
  
"Giles, please. The way they dress? The Reverend's crew all look like the cast of a high-school production of The Pirates of Penzance. Trick's all look... sharp."  
  
"I'm pleased that you can take the time to notice fashion sense."  
  
"It's just they never mix..." The Slayer's voice trailed away and she looked up at Giles, her eyes wide. "They never mix. Haven't you and Lindsay wondered what they're doing?"  
  
"Yes." Giles looked puzzled.  
  
Buffy slapped the map with the flat of her hand. "They're not working together. We've never seen them co-operate. It's just two sets of vampires."  
  
"What about that?" Giles indicated the third group of dots.  
  
Buffy stared at the map. "I don't know. We didn't get there." She looked at Giles. "But maybe we're looking for a pattern where there isn't one. Maybe it's a fluke, or a phase of the moon, or one of those weird minor saint's feast days vamps love."  
  
Giles nodded slowly. "It's possible. But I don't want to jump to any conclusions."  
  
Buffy scrunched up her nose. "Then how about I jump and you stand ready to pull me back to shore if I'm wrong?"  
  
Giles sighed. "Seems like that's the bulk of my job as it is."  
  
***  
  
"It sounds as though the entire operation was a complete success." The Mayor wiggled his fingers at a spaniel puppy. The little dog yipped inside its cage.  
  
"Yes," Swopes said. "It was flawless. No transformation errors, no control glitches. Everything was perfect."  
  
"Well, that makes me happy." The Mayor extended his fingers through the wire mesh and began tickling the puppy's nose. "Very happy indeed, Swopes."  
  
"I can't tell you how pleased I am, sir. We calculated a probable five-percent margin of error. To have a faultless first run is just... well, it's more than I would have hoped."  
  
"How long will it be before we can do it again?" The Mayor continued to play with the puppy, which bounded about its enclosure, ecstatic over a new friend.  
  
"Probably two days. It will take that long to recalibrate endorphin levels and--"  
  
"Dammit!" The Mayor's hand jerked back. A drop of crimson marked the tip of a finger. The puppy cocked its head, puzzled over the disappearance of its recent playmate. "Nipped my finger," the Mayor said. He crouched down, face even with the cage and stuck his hand through the wire. "C'mere," he whispered. The puppy took a hesitant step, then bounded forward to sniff his hand. The Mayor's hand closed. "Little sonofabitch," he hissed. "Bite me, will you." A terrified yelp echoed in the tile room, followed by a wet, pitiful yip that was cut off at its apex.  
  
The Mayor plucked a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and began wiping his hands. "Call me when they're ready," he said to a pale and shaking Dr. Swopes. "And get somebody to clean that up."  
  
***  
  
"Hey B, how's my girl?" Faith threw an arm around Buffy and squeezed. The blonde Slayer's head goggled back and forth as though on a spring. She disengaged herself from the brunette's grip.  
  
"Actually," Buffy said, "I'm feeling really beat."  
  
"Really?" Faith shrugged. "I feel great. Course, I've only been up about an hour."  
  
"Yeah," Buffy said. "That missing the first two hours of school does wonders for a person."  
  
Faith was unfazed. "Hey, it's not like anyone made you get out of bed and come to school."  
  
"Yeah, they did. Giles wanted to talk about last night."  
  
"You mean all the extra vamps?" Faith grinned, a sly, cocky expression. "Did you tell him that we well and truly kicked their asses?"  
  
"We didn't." Buffy faced the dark Slayer. "His map looks like it got paintballed. There are corpses all over town."  
  
"No shit?" Faith was incredulous. "That's impossible."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "No, it's not. It might not mean anything, but we've got to be on our toes."  
  
***  
  
"Hey, Oz, how's it going?"  
  
Oz turned. He knew the voice. It belonged to Ricky Moreno. Ricky was a sophomore, all wiry hair and twitchy hands, good at math and mediocre at history, but more importantly, he was devoted to Dingoes Ate My Baby.  
  
"Ricky," Oz said as he turned from his locker. "What's up?"  
  
"I just wanted to tell you how great I think Dingoes are sounding." Ricky kept bouncing up on his toes, a maneuver that was going to render Oz seasick if it continued much longer. "I mean, you guys have been really tight."  
  
"Thanks." Oz hoisted the old postal bag he used as a backpack.  
  
"So, when are you guys going to record anything?" Ricky skittered along the hallway, keeping pace with Oz.  
  
"I don't know if we're ready for the studio. That's a pretty serious commitment."  
  
"You don't have to go into a studio. You can get a computer program for a hundred bucks that'll let you record onto your hard disk. I'm surprised you didn't know that."  
  
Oz came to an abrupt stop in the middle of the hallway. "I did know that. I just hadn't thought of it."  
  
"It's something you should think about. You guys sound great. Especially the new guy."  
  
"Yeah?" Oz felt his neck muscles tense.  
  
"Yeah. He's fantastic. He adds a lot. Bringing him on board was one of your best moves ever."  
  
For a split-second, a half-a-heartbeat, Oz saw the world through a blood-red lens. He could almost feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck. "I'm glad to hear it," he said when the moment passed. "I hope you get to enjoy him for a long time."  
  
***  
  
Giles was affixing stickers to books. The stickers had a bar code printed on them which enabled him to check books out to students by simply passing a small laser stylus over the black lines. He was only doing this to the new books. Giles found the thought of repeating the process on one of the old classics offensive.  
  
The door opened behind him. He peeled a sticker away from its glossy backing and pressed it down on the back cover of some book by an author named Lurlene McDaniel. The very name caused a shudder to pass through the Watcher. The subject matter, something to do with a dying girl finding the meaning of life, did not dissuade him from judging this book by its cover.  
  
"Do you ever do anything but work?"  
  
Giles laid the book aside and picked up another. "I try to fulfill the responsibilities that I have accepted."  
  
"Oh, Rupert, that was very subtle. Like a flying mallet." Gerard Roland leaned against the counter. "You are still angry with me, no?"  
  
Giles would not turn to look at his old friend. "I don't believe anger is the word. Disappointed might be more accurate."  
  
"Disappointed? In me? Why?"  
  
Now Giles turned, his eyes bright and his lips pale. "You have the gall to ask me why?"  
  
"Yes." Gerard pushed away from the counter and approached the librarian. "You act as though I have taken advantage of a child. The young lady in question is not child. Have you looked at her?"  
  
Giles clenched a fist. "If you are implying what I think you're implying, then you are on thin ice."  
  
"Your use of American colloquialisms is outstanding." Gerard laid a hand on the counter. "Of course you had no impure thoughts about her. I remember a time when you might have, but not now. You have become the impeccable Rupert Giles."   
  
Giles colored. "Do not attempt to paint me as some sort of prude or puritan. This is not the first time you have done this sort of thing."  
  
Gerard smiled ruefully. "No, but I, on the other hand, have never been impeccable." He tapped his knuckles on the polished wood. "Perhaps that is why you have a Slayer and I do not."  
  
Giles eyes narrowed. "Don't. Don't even try that ploy. You know that the selection of Watcher and Slayer is not in the hands of the Council."  
  
A sound that might have been a chuckle came from Gerard. "In the old days, you were not so credulous. The Ripper truly is gone."  
  
"What do you mean?" Giles asked, caught off-balance.  
  
Gerard took a deep breath. "One reason I came to you is that I suspect that someone at the Council has done just that. I believe that they have tampered with the selection process."  
  
***  
  
Willie sidled up to the booth. "So, uh, you gonna order anything or what?"  
  
Angel looked up at the snitch and grinned. The expression did not warm the cockles of Willie's heart. "Maybe I just want to enjoy the ambiance," Angel said.  
  
"Yeah, well, there may not too much of that left if you keep hangin' around." The balding little ferret of a man glanced about. "In case you ain't noticed, there's not a lot of people happy to see you here."  
  
Angel's gaze swept the bar. Backs were turned and the adjacent booths were empty, as well as the table closest to him. "I don't know. You don't seem to be hurting."  
  
"Sure, there's asses in the seats, but it's a dead crowd. No pun intended." The little man stretched his neck as though trying to work out a kink. "All of 'em nursing one glass. Not even got the decency to take their one drink and leave, open a slot for someone else."  
  
"And you're blaming me for your troubles?"  
  
"Well, c'mon, you give everybody the creeps, what with the whole soul thing and... the little trip you took. Everybody gets the heebie-jeebies around you."  
  
"Do you, Willie?" Angel rolled an empty glass between his hands.  
  
"Aw, why are you busting my chops? I never did nothin' to you."  
  
"Funny, that's not what I remember. I remember you selling me out to Spike." Angel turned to the proprietor, his face wearing the form of a smile but none of the substance. "So don't screw with me, or I'll be the most unholy buzzkill you've ever seen."  
  
The little man stumbled backward. As he turned and hurried away he muttered, "I don't know why I do this. Just trying to run a business, that's all..."  
  
***  
  
"What do you mean?" Giles asked. He tried to keep his voice from trembling. "Are you saying that Buffy and I..." His voice trailed away. He was too devastated to even give voice to his thoughts.  
  
"Of course not." Gerard rolled his eyes in frustration. "How egocentric of you. Of course you are Buffy's Watcher. I am referring to Faith and Lindsay."  
  
Giles squinted in puzzlement. "What?"  
  
"Come, come Rupert. Use that wonderful, logical mind of yours for a moment. Have you ever known a Watcher to be activated so soon after the completion of their training. And even if she weren't so new, what about Constantine Spyro? He's a veteran Watcher, already in Boston?"  
  
Giles shook his head. "You know that seniority has nothing to do with Watcher selection."  
  
Gerard nodded, his face grim. "I know, and that is why I began to look into the process. I wanted to convince myself that I was paranoid. Instead, I found indications of tampering with the rituals, evidence of withheld information."  
  
Giles was silent for a moment. "We have to tell Lindsay. We--"  
  
"We must do nothing of the sort, old friend. If we inform her, what will she do? Resign? If she does that, your enemies will know you are on to them. If she remains as Faith's Watcher, how can she possibly serve if she believes herself to be illegitimate?" He took a deep breath. "Besides, it is possible that I am mistaken."  
  
Giles' lips narrowed in anger. "Yet you still took advantage of her."  
  
Gerard shook his head. "Must we always return to that? She does not have this knowledge. I did not exploit any weakness in her, especially not any weakness created by me."  
  
Giles stared at his old friend. "You were wrong, but the past is past. What will we do now?"  
  
Gerard shrugged. "I say do nothing. As far as everyone except us is concerned, she is Faith's rightful Watcher.  
  



	6. chapter 6

  
Buffy swung the front door closed behind her and headed for the stairs. She was halfway up when her mother came out of the kitchen.  
  
"Buffy," Joyce said, "I need to talk to you."  
  
"Sorry," Buffy said from the top of the stairs. "I'm in a real hurry."  
  
"Buffy, it's important. What about--"  
  
"What about Thanksgiving? I know, Mom, it's only a few days away, but I think it's all good. Faith and Lindsay are coming, Giles will be here." The distance from her room to where her mother stood muffled the Slayer's voice. Joyce tapped her foot and stood there, arms crossed, until Buffy appeared at the top of the stairs.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mom, I really am, but tonight's patrol--"  
  
"I don't want to talk about Thanksgiving. I want to talk about this." Joyce held up an envelope.  
  
"Mom," Buffy said, coming slowly down the stairs, "tell me you didn't read that."  
  
"It was probably wrong of me," Joyce said, "but I was cleaning the house and you left this lying on the kitchen cabinet. Maybe I shouldn't have read it, but I did."  
  
"I can explain." The Slayer held up her hands in supplication.  
  
"Were you ever going to tell me you'd gotten your SATs back?"  
  
"Well, yeah, someday."  
  
Joyce shook the envelope. "And these scores? Do you understand what they mean?"  
  
Buffy shrugged. "Willow says they're pretty good."  
  
A giant grin split Joyce's face. "Pretty good? Buffy, these scores will get you into any college in America. Have you mailed in your applications?"  
  
"Mom, I haven't gotten around to it--"  
  
"Why not? It's almost too late as it is. I'll have to call your father, and--"  
  
"Mom!" Buffy held out a hand. "I haven't decided if I'm going to college. The SATs aren't the only thing they look at. Your extracurriculars count and there's the transcript, which in my case isn't exactly hall of fame material."  
  
Joyce looked puzzled. "But with these scores..."  
  
"There's also the slaying thing."  
  
Joyce shook her head. "Are you saying that these Watchers might try to prevent you from getting an education?"  
  
"I don't know. They might." Buffy bit her lower lip. "There's also a good chance I might not make it until college." Joyce gasped. Her hand flew to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes. Buffy was down the stairs in a flash. "I'm sorry," she said as she hugged her mother. "I shouldn't have said it like that."  
  
Joyce tried to wipe away her tears. "Every time I think I've got a handle on this Slayer thing, you say something like that and I realize just how... terrible it is." She clutched her daughter in a fierce embrace. "You tell Mr. Giles that you may be the Slayer and he may be the Watcher, but I'm your mother, and I say you're going to college."  
  
Buffy laughed through the sobs that welled in her own throat. "I'll do that. It might scare them more than the vampires."  
  
***  
  
"Hey, Linz, you ready?" Faith jiggled the doorknob. "We'll be late."  
  
"Hold your horses." Lindsay came out of the bathroom. She wore black leather pants, black Doc Martens, a black turtleneck and a black quilted vest. Her hair was pulled back. "Afraid you'll miss something?"  
  
"I just don't want Buffy and Giles giving us that look if we show up at the library and they're already waiting." The dark Slayer wrenched the door open. "Let's roll."  
  
***  
  
Buffy and Giles were waiting, but Faith's fears were groundless. She arrived with her Watcher just minutes after the librarian's Citroen had pulled into the parking lot.  
  
"Wow," Buffy said when she saw Lindsay. "Very derring-do. Hey Giles, why don't you ever wear anything cool like this on patrol?"  
  
Giles continued checking the bag for weapons and supplies. "I find that all that black makes me look rather severe."  
  
"An outfit that would match your mood." Gerard Roland stepped out of the shadows. "I wonder if I might join your little expedition."  
  
Lindsay's eyes widened at the sight of the urbane, silver-haired Watcher. Giles gritted his teeth so hard that knots of muscle popped out at the hinge of his jaw. Buffy registered both reactions and waited. The silence grew to epic proportions.  
  
"Come, come Rupert," Gerard said. "Surely you are not so stubborn."  
  
Giles looked at the bag in his hand as he spoke. "I question whether you are prepared for something like this."  
  
Gerard shrugged. "I have not been in the field for some time, but I assure that I have been dedicated in my training. Plus, if I am to be your bulwark before the Council, I should experience first-hand what it is like here on the Hellmouth." He held up an oaken walking stick. "And I brought my trusty staff."  
  
Giles did not respond, just stood there breathing heavily. Lindsay turned to him. "Mr. Giles," she said, her voice beseeching.  
  
"Very well," the librarian said. "I suppose it would be foolish to reject any sort of help."  
  
"Ah," Gerard said, smiling broadly, "that is the sort of talk I like to hear."  
  
***  
  
Cordelia Chase's right hand held back the curtain as she stood at her bedroom window. She wore a gray T-shirt and blue plaid flannel pajama pants. Her feet were bare and her hair hung loose on her shoulders. The house was as quiet as a held breath.  
  
She looked past her silvered reflection in the window, her gaze reaching into the night. Sometimes the darkness seemed frightening, an abyss that waited to swallow her up, but on other nights, nights like tonight, it seemed like a refuge. She could walk into that somber velvet blackness and disappear.  
  
She looked at her charcoal-sketch counterpart in the window. If she did leave (and she knew she wouldn't), who would hold things together then? Too much depended on her. She looked above her reflected shoulder and saw the mirror image of the phone. What if it rang? What if it was Xander instead of Tiffany or Janiece?  
  
Buffy Summers. That was the problem. If it hadn't been for Buffy, Cordelia would never have known there were vampires in Sunnydale, let alone all the other mondo freaks roaming its quiet (ha!) streets. Then she never would have been drawn into fighting them, never would have seen Xander in a new light, never been close to him, never been trapped in that basement, just the two of them, Xander trying to forge a plan, she terrified out of her wits, and then he had looked at her and everything had changed...  
  
For the worse. Life had been hard enough before. Since Buffy had rolled her wagon into town, things were intolerable. That's what Cordelia told herself as she let the curtain fall and padded across the thick carpet to her bed. That's what she told herself, and every time she repeated it, she knew it was a lie.  
  
***  
  
Buffy ducked and let the vampire's kick pass overhead. This maneuver put her at about eye level with the vampire's left knee. She decided to see what would happen if she punched that knee very hard. The joint buckled the wrong way, accompanied by a gruesome crunch and a blood-curdling scream. The vampire toppled over, the pain of the ruined leg distracting it from the approaching stake. As the creature's dust settled into the grass Buffy turned to see how the others were doing.  
  
The five of them had tracked a large group of vampires across the west end of Sunnydale and caught them here at the American Legion baseball field. The brawl ranged across the outfield as the dew formed and a light fog rose from the ground. Buffy had already staked three bloodsuckers and Faith was in the process of beating her second one to a messy pulp. Lindsay and Giles had three vamps trapped in a crook of the outfield fence and were closing in with crosses and stakes. As for Gerard Roland, Buffy had never seen anything like him. Like Faith, Buffy used her Slayer strength and speed to carry the fight to the enemy. Giles and Lindsay, like most regular people Buffy had seen fight vampires, fought with dogged determination and a reliance on carefully rehearsed tactics and strategy. Watching Gerard fight was like watching Gene Kelly dance. He moved with grace and elegance, with no wasted motion or awkwardness, always remaining just out of his opponent's reach until the proper opening presented itself. Then he stepped forward and dispatched his foe with the cleverly sharpened point of his walking stick.  
  
Faith drove a right cross into her vampire's face, then stepped back, measured carefully and unleashed a thunderous spin kick that turned the demon a full one-eighty. The vampire swayed for a second then toppled face first onto the grass. Faith reached down and grabbed it by the collar.  
  
"Faith!" Buffy yelled. "Finish it." The dark Slayer looked at her, shrugged, and pulled a stake out of her jacket.  
  
"Satisfied?" she asked when the vampire was ashes. The two of them started toward the fence. Gerard had joined Giles and Lindsay. They were using great caution as they approached the trio of vamps. The chain link fence was only shoulder high, but this section of the outfield had a second barrier, a nylon net reaching twenty feet in the air; its purpose was to keep home runs from breaking the windows of the homes across the street.  
  
One of the vampires began to scrabble up the net. Giles raised the crossbow he carried and took careful aim. Buffy heard the sharp twang of the string and the meaty thwock of impact. The vampire fell to the ground screaming. The bolt had gone through his calf, the bloody head visible as it protruded beside the shinbone. The other two vamps looked around, panicky. One of them made a feint to the right. Lindsay responded, moving to cut off any avenue of escape. Her foot slipped on the thick, damp grass. She went to one knee. The vampire lunged forward.  
  
Whether the demon was going for Lindsay's throat or simply making a break for it would remain unknown. Faith screamed and hurtled past Buffy. She slammed in to the vampire and carried it back into the fence. A metallic crash rang through the misty night. Faith threw three fast, hard punches. The bloodsucker was still reeling when she staked it. The second upright vampire was backpedaling, hands up. Faith threw her stake hard, like a Randy Johnson fastball, and the creature died with its hands in the air. She turned to the wounded vampire on the ground. The others were rushing forward as she reached down, snapped the head off the crossbow bolt, and plunged the short piece of bloody wood into its heart.  
  
The sudden silence that followed bloomed like a flower. Faith was framed in the halogen glow, tendrils of fog swirling around her. Her eyes were wild and her teeth were bared in a berserker's grimace.  
  
"Faith!" Giles did not sound pleased. "What have you done? We wanted one of them alive to question."  
  
Faith snapped out of her trance and stared at the fuming Watcher. "Hey, tough shit," she said. "Nobody lays a hand on Lindsay."  
  
"Faith, I was all right." Lindsay bit her lower lip, her forehead furrowed.  
  
"We needed information." Giles was not going to let it go.  
  
"Hey, Giles, ease up." Buffy stepped in front of her Watcher and placed a hand on his chest. "When was the last time we got a vamp to tell us anything?"  
  
Giles pointed at an empty patch of ground. "The wounded one might have. We had some leverage there."  
  
"Rupert, Rupert." Gerard took Giles by the arm and turned him away. "What is done is done, but the night is young."  
  
"Yeah," Buffy said, her face brightening. "Miles to go before we sleep and all that."  
  
Giles glanced at her, his eyes sparking. "You do know that poem's about death."  
  
Buffy looked over her shoulder. Lindsay had her arms around Faith. The dark-haired girl was shaking. "No, I didn't," Buffy said, turning back to her Watcher. "Shall I quote Emily Dickinson instead?"  
  
Giles stalked away, muttering, "Just once I wish you would pay attention in class."  
  
***  
  
Xander woke up. Rather, on a continuum between sleep and consciousness he moved one notch closer to wakefulness. His sleep had not been restful. Strange dreams troubled him and the room seemed far too hot. He kicked the tangle of sheets and blankets off him and staggered into the bathroom for a glass of water. His head felt thick and heavy when he returned to bed, his mouth dry and gritty. The neck of his T-shirt was soaked with sweat. He could smell it.  
  
He turned on his side. The phone perched on the bedside table. Xander shook his head, trying to clear it. Maybe he should call Cordy. Sure, it was late, but they'd talked until all hours before. His hand rose, then he remembered what Buffy had said. He rolled over onto his back. He missed her. He missed all her annoying ways, her self-absorption and her blithe disregard for tact. He missed her smell and her touch. He missed her resolve and that weird, iron self-discipline.  
  
But if he couldn't talk to her, he could dream about her. He turned from the phone and in a few minutes had moved back toward the sleep end of the scale. The familiar dream drifted in. He was behind her, walking toward her. They were outside, but she couldn't hear him. She was naked (this was his favorite part of the dream) and her long dark hair flowed down her back. He reached out and touched her shoulder. She turned.  
  
"I've been waiting for you," Faith said.  
  
There was no more sleep that night.  
  
***  
  
Buffy kicked at the ground and tried not to look at the corpse splayed across the sidewalk. Death by vampire was never a pretty sight, but this one was more unsavory than usual. Bits and pieces of the victim, some identifiable and some not, were strewn across the concrete and into the street.  
  
"Do you still think this is just a coincidence?" Giles asked as he stood beside her.  
  
The Slayer shook her head. "No. Something's up." She took a deep breath, hoping to re-inflate her spirits as well as her lungs. Three major skirmishes in one night made it hard to keep a positive mental attitude.  
  
"Rupert, have you examined this body?" Gerard Roland crouched beside the carcass, his forearms resting on his knees.  
  
"No," Giles replied.  
  
"I think you should," Gerard said. "I do not believe this was the work of a vampire."  
  
Giles frowned and hurried to his old friend's side. They conversed in low tones as Buffy went to stand beside Faith. Lindsay started toward the body, then hesitated, stopping halfway between the Slayers and the Watchers. She vacillated for a moment, then approached Giles and Roland.  
  
"Not just a bunch of vampires running wild, is it?" Faith said.  
  
Buffy shook her head. "Not even two bunches running wild."  
  
Faith pursed her lips. "Trick on one side, the Reverend on the other, us in the middle. Makes you wonder what their plans are."  
  
"I'm pretty sure I know what their plans are." Buffy looked up at the sky, noticing the hard brightness of the stars. "Kill us."  
  
The trio of Watchers converged on them. "Gerard is right," Giles said. "This was no vampire attack."  
  
"Bet it wasn't a boating accident either," Buffy said. Faith snickered. Lindsay frowned. Giles and Gerard offered blank stares. "Sorry," the blond Slayer said. "Reflex. What was it?"  
  
Giles rubbed his forehead. "We can't be sure, but it appears to be some sort of animal attack."  
  
Buffy grimaced. "Ordinary animal?"  
  
Giles ran a hand through his hair. "It's hard to tell. My guess would be no."  
  
Buffy shook her head. "I was afraid you'd say that."  
  
***  
  
Willow closed her locker door and spun the dial. "Are you sure?"  
  
Buffy looked at her friend and rolled her eyes. "There wasn't a billboard or a neon sign, but Giles and his pal seem pretty sure."  
  
Willow frowned. "Okay, so why are you sharing with me?"  
  
Buffy leaned close to the redhead. "Remember how you wanted to hack into the morgue's records?"  
  
Willow's eyes widened. "Okay. I'm there."  
  
***  
  
"Rough night?"  
  
Xander looked over his shoulder. "You should talk," he said.  
  
Oz tried to appear nonchalant, but it was a sham. To the observant eye, the diminutive musician's hair was not its usual artful array of spikes, but the matted results of a sleepless night. Xander knew that he was a mess-his skin pale from his sleepless night, his jawline covered in patchy dark stubble.  
  
Not that this made either of them stand out today. The masses of students moving through the halls of Sunnydale High were abnormally subdued. Even a town accustomed to death can be cowed by a surfeit of it, particularly when it is of the violent and bloody sort.  
  
"Stuff on my mind," Oz said.  
  
"Anything in particular?" Xander asked.  
  
Oz shrugged. "Personal stuff. You?"  
  
Xander shook his head. "I wouldn't know where to start."  
  
Movement at the end of the hall caught Oz's eye. He shifted his focus to look over Xander's shoulder. Devon leaned against the wall, his hand raised in greeting. Trey Garcia came up to him and shook hands. Oz watched as they talked for few seconds. Trey nodded then they did some weird hip-hop half-handshake, half-hug thing. They headed off in different directions.  
  
"Oz." He looked at Xander, who was regarding him with what seemed to be real concern. "You all right?"  
  
"Uh, yeah, just took a momentary mental health break." Oz tapped the side of his head. "Did I miss anything while I was on vacation?"  
  
"Hey," Xander said. "What are you doing for lunch?"  
  
Oz looked up at him. "I'm free. Giles needs Willow in the library."  
  
"Tell you what," Xander said, "I'll see you at lunch. We'll compare tales of woe and determine who is the most unmanly."  
  
Oz almost smiled. "Lunch."  
  
***  
  
Buffy picked at the cafeteria salad she had brought to the library. She used her thumb and forefinger to extract a particularly limp section of lettuce. She stared at it.  
  
"If you're through playing with your food, I'd like to get on with this." Giles looked over his shoulder. Buffy dropped the lettuce.  
  
"Sorry," she said. "I was just wondering how they can get away with sucking every single bit of taste and texture out of the food."  
  
"Oh, this is going to be easy." Willow shook her head and began typing away. "They didn't even change the service password. Easiest backdoor in the world." She hit 'Enter.'  
  
Gerard Roland watched the flickering blue screen. "What are you hoping to find?"  
  
Willow shrugged. "Autopsy files. Preliminary examinations. Anything about cause of death."  
  
"But they could not have worked so fast." Gerard sounded perplexed.  
  
"They may have a couple of the bodies from night before last done." Willow glanced over her shoulder. "Besides, we don't need a full workup. I just want anything that says either death by exsanguination--" she turned to Buffy "-that's blood loss--"  
  
"Great," said the Slayer. "I'll keep that one in reserve for Extreme Scrabble."  
  
Willow continued without missing a beat. "-Or death by animal attack." Her hands hovered above the keyboard. "Shall we begin?"  
  
***  
  
Mr. Trick's elbows were planted on the arms of his chair, his fingers steepled in front of his chiseled, impassive face. Mr. Quisling stood to his left. Quisling's hands were folded in front of his belt.  
  
"Make sure that the Mayor's tame doctor understands his part in this." Trick blinked twice. "The last thing I need is for this to blow up in my face because some underling doesn't do his job."  
  
"Yes sir," Quisling said. "What about the others?"  
  
A mordant smile crossed Trick's lips. "Are you talking about us or them?"  
  
"Both." Quisling was nothing if not politic.  
  
The grin remained on Trick's face. "Most of the hillbillies are happy to be killing. They all want Viking funerals anyway. Losses don't matter to them. Better a glorious defeat than a subtle victory."  
  
"And our people?"  
  
"If you hear anyone getting out of line, emphasize that this is the last night."  
  
"And if that doesn't pacify them?"  
  
Trick turned his head to look at his minion. "Then emphasize that I want it this way."  
  
***  
  
Giles stared at the computer screen. Gerard Roland looked over his shoulder. Willow shrugged.  
  
"It is what it is," she said. "Don't shoot the messenger."  
  
Giles spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "More deaths by animal attack than blood loss."  
  
"It could be a ruse," Gerard offered.  
  
"If it is, we're screwed." Willow leaned back in her chair. "Think about it. If somebody's planting false info in the coroner's office to mislead us, then this thing is too big for us to fight."  
  
"She has a point," Gerard said.  
  
A sour expression crossed Giles' face as he looked at his friend. "Nice to see you hold your position so strongly." Gerard shrugged. The librarian turned back to the screen. "There must be an explanation."  
  
"Yeah," Willow said. "More of them died from these attacks than from vampires. They have preliminary reports on all the victims."  
  
"Any full autopsies?" Buffy spoke around a mouthful of salad.  
  
Willow consulted the screen. "Two," she said. "Both animal attacks."  
  
Buffy swallowed. "Anything strange about them?"  
  
Willow stared at the monitor, her lips moving slightly. "Ewww," she said.  
  
Buffy sat up straight. "That sounded promising."  
  
Willow turned to her. "These are big critters. The bite radii are too big for a dog."  
  
Giles took a deep breath. "What about a wolf?"  
  
Willow shrugged. "I suppose they could be big ones."  
  
"Wait a minute," Buffy said. "You said 'they' and 'critters.'"  
  
"Yeah," Willow said. "Both victims show evidence of multiple attacks by more than one assailant."  
  
"Well," Buffy said, "it just gets better and better."  
  
***  
  
Xander put his tray down on the table and sat. Oz was already working on a sub sandwich.  
  
"Let the whinefest begin," Xander said. "I'm guessing your sad story has something to do with the band."  
  
Oz finished chewing, mainly to hide his surprise, and looked at Xander. "That's pretty perceptive. Care to share how?"  
  
"Elementary. There are only two things in your life that could cause you distress-Dingoes Ate My Baby and Willow. I've gathered enough evidence with my own eyes to see that Will is crazy about you and you feel likewise, ergo--" Xander raised a hand, his index finger pointed upward "-the source of your issues must be the band."  
  
Oz nodded once. "Solid reasoning, but you forgot one possibility."  
  
Xander looked perplexed. "I did? What?" Oz held up his hand, hooking the fingers into claws. "Oh, that." Xander gave a dismissive wave. "I don't think your in a funk because you're wolfy."  
  
"You don't think that could have even a little bit to do with it?"  
  
Xander shook his head. "No. That would be way too existential." He pointed at Oz's head. "A hairdo like that comes from concrete problems."  
  
"Okay," Oz said. "You're right. I think Devon might be trying to cut me out of the band."  
  
"What?" Xander's sandwich stopped halfway to his mouth. "How could he do that? You started it with him."  
  
"It gets worse." Oz stared into his cup. "I think he's going to replace me with a guy I suggested as a fill-in."  
  
"Wow, that would pretty much define major-league harsh." The corners of Xander's mouth turned down.  
  
"Okay," Oz said. "Your turn."  
  
"Ah," Xander said, "well--" He stopped and looked toward the cafeteria door. "There's my problem."  
  
Oz turned and looked over his shoulder. Cordelia stood just inside the doorway, talking to Janiece Sutton. He turned back. "Problems with Cordelia?"  
  
"Exactly. Cordelia has a problem that she won't share with me." Xander took a drink.  
  
Oz thought, then spoke with great care. "Could this problem be none of your business?"  
  
Xander rubbed his chin. "I'm not sure that she thinks any part of her life is my business."  
  
***  
  
Cordelia kept shooting little glances over Janiece's shoulder. The other girl was way over-impressed with a new pair of shoes she'd gotten at a boutique downtown, but her babbling provided Cordy with the perfect cover for watching Xander. He was talking to Oz, the two of them having a fine conversation over lunch. Part of Cordelia wanted to push past Janiece and stride across the cafeteria to sit next to him, but another part reminded her of the possible consequences and so, torn between two choices, she settled for using Janiece Sutton as camouflage for her covert glimpses.  
  
***  
  



	7. chapter 7

"That was both productive and unsettling," Willow said as she left the library, Buffy by her side.   
  
"Yes, you were quite the little ray of sunshine." The Slayer threw her arm around the redhead. "Where are you off to now?"   
  
Willow stopped in the middle of the hallway. "Buffy, do you believe in God? Allah? Karma? The Rule of Three?"   
  
Buffy frowned, puzzled. "I just asked where you were going. Where did we make the left turn into the theological?"   
  
Willow shook her head. "I just want to know if there's some sort of guiding force or intelligence in the universe, and if there is, what did I do to offend him, her or it so badly that my punishment is to be stuck tutoring Tyler Pittman."   
  
Buffy cocked her head to one side. "Not an easy student, I take it?"   
  
Willow grimaced and stamped her foot. "He's a walking pain in the ass."   
  
***   
  
Tyler Pittman crossed his bony arms over his sunken chest and pouted. "I told you I ain't gonna do it. How's come you're still here?"   
  
Willow concentrated on arranging the textbooks in an orderly stack. "First, it was because I had to, but you've turned it into so much more." She looked at the homely boy. "You've made it personal. I'm going to get you to a 'C' average."   
  
He scowled. "Why do you care?"   
  
"Why don't you?" Willow gestured at the books. "You know this stuff. You know some of it better than I do. Why are you so determined to fail?"   
  
"Maybe I'm not failing. Maybe this just isn't important to me."   
  
"How are you going to get into college?"   
  
He waved her question away. "Who says everybody's got to go to college?" He leaned forward. "Do you think all life's answers are in college? They ain't."   
  
"Quite saying 'ain't'," Willow snapped. "You do it on purpose because you think it makes you sound dumb."   
  
"No," Tyler replied. "It just don't make me sound like you."   
  
Willow tried switching tactics. "What about your parents?"   
  
"What about 'em?" His stare was flat and affectless.   
  
Willow nodded, trying to control her seething exasperation. "Well, that's very Holden Caulfield of you."   
  
Tyler snorted. "Most overrated book of the twentieth century."   
  
Willow rolled her eyes. "So you've decided to opt out of life at fifteen?"   
  
"Listen," he said, those brown eyes boring into her, "you don't know me, so don't sit there and judge me. You think you're gonna shame me into gettin' good grades? Lady, better'n you've tried and failed to ride that heifer."   
  
Willow's eyebrows drew together. "I have no idea what that means."   
  
"Huh." Tyler leaned back, a smug grin on his freckled face. "And you think you're the smart one."   
  
***   
  
Giles took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger. "So we will meet at sundown and attempt to find and track these creatures, whatever they may be. Agreed?"   
  
Lindsay Maeda nodded. Gerard Roland raised one eyebrow. "What about the vampires?" he asked.   
  
Lindsay frowned. "I'm more concerned about what we'll do if we find what we're looking for."   
  
"I'm sure we will find some vampires that need killing," Giles said. "But I think that information is our paramount goal." He focused on Lindsay. "This will work."   
  
"I believe you." Lindsay pushed her hair back from her face. "I'll make sure we have everything we need."   
  
"Very well." Gerard stood. "I will see you at sundown."   
  
Giles blinked. "What? We need to make plans for tonight."   
  
Gerard smiled and shrugged. "Ah, my old friend, you were always so much better at planning than me. I would only distract you, and I have important business to attend."   
  
"What business could possibly be so important?"   
  
Gerard's grin turned rakish. "I do not believe that it is any of your concern, but if it will ease your mind, I must begin to make arrangements to return to Montreal."   
  
Lindsay's head jerked up. Giles noticed but remained focused on Gerard. "This is quite a time to decide to leave."   
  
Gerard made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "I will see this operation through, but extending my visit any longer will surely result in questions, the sort of questions you do not want asked." He smiled. "Do not be so suspicious, Rupert."   
  
***   
  
The locker room was quiet. Cordelia tried to steel herself for what she was about to do. She was the captain. That meant she had to say something comforting to Lacey, maybe even offer a quick hug. It was expected of her. She shook her head, feeling the thick ponytail brush across her upper back. The other girls watched as she crossed the locker room. Lacey sat on a bench, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue as Sheri and Jenna consoled her. Jenna looked up as Cordelia approached. They made eye contact and Jenna slid over, acknowledging Cordelia's right to the space beside Lacey. Cordelia sat down and patted the other girl on the shoulder.   
  
"Hey," she said, "I'm sure that Muffin is in doggie heaven."   
  
Lacey nodded. "Th-thank you, Cordelia." Fresh tears poured down the girl's face. "She was so sweet."   
  
Cordelia nodded, a vacant gesture. In her opinion, Muffin was a fluffy little white crap factory. Still, coyotes and all...   
  
She patted Lacey on the shoulder again and stood. Jenna slid back into the vacated space. Cordelia shook her head as she walked back to her locker. Activity resumed; Muffin might have suffered a tragic death, but they still had practice.   
  
Andrea Pierce walked through the door and stopped. She swayed a little, unsteady on her feet. Cordelia glanced at her, then did a double take. Andrea's face was paper-white. She looked around the room, making a full circuit before she spoke.   
  
"Skyler," she said. "Last night, she was..." A keening sob burst from her throat. "Skyler's dead."   
  
***   
  
Ms. Hollis seemed to be speaking from far away, down a deep hole. Cordelia forced herself to concentrate. Practice was being canceled, that was what Ms. Hollis was saying. Cordelia reached down and picked up her gym bag. Her head felt packed full, yet numb. There was not much talking in the locker room. Girls were crying and hugging each other, but not talking. Cordelia looked at them, dazed. Maybe this was what it felt like to be on drugs.   
  
She found herself in the hallway. That meant that she had made it out of the locker room, so she must be walking okay. Kids were walking in the hall, some of them looking at her. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other and tried to understand why she felt this way.   
  
She swallowed hard and saw Xander standing at his locker. His back was to her, his head down. Without conscious volition, her feet drifted toward him. He heard or sensed her approach, because he turned when she was a couple of steps away. His eyes widened.   
  
"Cor," he said, "what's wrong?"   
  
She opened her mouth to speak, but it took all her resolve not to cry as she fell into his arms.   
  
***   
  
Oz hesitated when he saw Devon. He thought about turning around, but even as the thought crossed his mind, he loathed it. He continued on his path.   
  
"Hey, Oz," Devon said as they drew closer. "I been looking for you. Listen, there's some things we need to talk about at rehearsal tonight."   
  
For a split-second Oz stared at the world through a red haze. Blood thrummed in his ears and he heard himself say, "No, I don't think so. I won't be at rehearsal tonight."   
  
"What? Dude, we got a gig in two weeks."   
  
"Look, Devon, if you want me out of the band, just say it. Be a man. Don't duck it."   
  
"Dude." Devon's eyes opened wide. "Did you get hold of some bad shrooms or something? What are you talking about?"   
  
"Yeah, right." Oz turned on his heel and walked away. "When you can be honest, call me." His last vision was of Devon scratching his head.   
  
***   
  
Xander sat on the bench, held Cordelia's hand, and felt dumb. Not because he held her hand, but because that was all he could think of to do. She had sobbed out something about a cheerleader being killed and how she didn't really know the girl that well, but that was the point, wasn't it? Xander didn't know which unnerved him more, the subject matter or the incoherence of Cordelia's account. She wasn't exactly crying, but some sort of dry-heavish palpitation was definitely present.   
  
"Hey," he said, reaching out to touch her hair with his free hand, "you keep talking about this like it's your fault."   
  
"It's not," she said. "At least, I know it's not in my head."   
  
Xander shrugged. "How about the rest of you?"   
  
Cordelia turned her head to look at him. "What do you mean?"   
  
"Well, you said you knew it in your head, but your head's like, what, twelve percent of your body? Sometimes it's not what you know in your head, it's what you feel in the other eighty-eight percent. If anybody should know that, we should."   
  
"What?"   
  
"Does anybody think we make a good couple? I mean, are there any reasons why we're together? I mean..." Xander took a deep breath and slapped his hands down on his thighs. "Okay, I realize that I am digging myself the mother of all holes here, so I'll cut to the chase. Don't tell me what you know, Cor. Tell me what you feel."   
  
Cordelia leaned forward. "It's not like she was a close friend or anything. Cheerleading was about the only thing we had in common." She took a breath and Xander could swear it sounded like a sigh. "But after... I mean, when I was... when..."   
  
"It's okay," Xander said. "I'm familiar. You can skip that part."   
  
Cordelia shook her head. "I came into the locker room for practice, and she met me just inside the door and gave me this big hug, and then she started crying. She said that she was afraid that she was the last person I'd spoken to, and that what she had said was so stupid." Cordelia smiled, her eyes glittering with unspilled tears. "I told her not to be goofy, but it was really sweet." She bit her lip. "And I can't really remember the last thing I said to her yesterday after practice."   
  
Xander put an arm around her shoulders and gave a very gentle tug. She leaned into him, her head resting on his shoulder. He was quiet for a minute, feeling the warmth of her next to him, smelling her hair as he turned his face toward her and kissed the top of her head. "I'm not gonna say it's okay," he said. "Because it's not. And I'm not gonna tell you to suck it up. You feel however you feel for as long as you need to."   
  
***   
  
"So, what's with all the hardware?" Buffy used a fingernail to trace a lazy circle on the library countertop. Giles paused in the act of handing a rifle to Lindsay and looked at the Slayer.   
  
"I thought I was very clear. We're going to try to capture one of these... beasts."   
  
Buffy rolled her eyes. "I know that. But where do you get all these guns? I mean, you had one tranquilizer rifle, but don't tell me you keep a couple of spares just in case. That would be, like, the anal hall of fame." There was a beat, then Lindsay bit her lip and snorted, trying to keep a guffaw inside. Faith didn't even try; her belly laugh rang out like a foghorn. Buffy blushed, her face turning a furious red as she realized how that last statement had sounded.   
  
"At least you have the civility to be embarrassed," Giles said in a mild voice, although his eyes sparkled behind his glasses. "Actually, I have a connection with a local veterinarian. In return for exorbitant fees, he asks no questions when I make a special request."   
  
Buffy shook her head. "And you call yourself a good guy. Where's Mr. Roland?"   
  
Giles' humor dissipated. "Gerard had another appointment. He will meet us here at sundown."   
  
Faith paced the library, fingers twitching. "So, what do you think we're after? Werewolves?"   
  
Giles shook his head. "No. We're nowhere near a full moon."   
  
"Then what are they?" Faith sounded jittery and anxious to be out fighting.   
  
Lindsay looked up. "Werewolves aren't the only mystical beasts. They're not even the only shapeshifters."   
  
"Although," Giles added, "most of the others are from Asia and tend not to congregate in America."   
  
"So, why would an unknown hellbeast, possibly Asian in origin, end up in Sunnydale?" Buffy mock-slapped her forehead. "Oh, that's right, the Hellmouth thingie." She turned to Lindsay. "Any idea what they might be?"   
  
Lindsay smiled. "My family's been in America since 1884, and we've worked damn hard to assimilate. You probably know as much Asian folklore as I do."   
  
Faith frowned. "But you're sure the tranqs will work?"   
  
"No," Giles admitted. "That's why it's comforting to have a Slayer along."   
  
Buffy cocked her head to one side. "Does this whole scenario stir anyone else's inner paranoid? I mean, two groups of vampires and an unknown creature of some sort? How's that work?"   
  
Giles said, "That's what we hope to find out" and latched the rifle case.   
  
***   
  
Like everyone, Oz had secrets. The fact that he was a werewolf was a secret, but there were darker mysteries he kept closely guarded. The Scooby gang all knew he was a werewolf, but only Willow knew how much he loved the music of Prince, and even she did not know his deepest confidence: when Oz was in a funk, he glued down the repeat button on the CD player and listened to Abba's "The Name of the Game" over and over again.   
  
***   
  
"Any ideas on how we're supposed to track these guys?" Faith looked over her shoulder at the Watchers. The three of them looked a little ridiculous: two middle-aged men and a young woman, dressed in everything from Giles's tweeds to Gerard's sweater to Lindsay's ninja get-up, and each of them carrying a bulky tranquilizer rifle.   
  
Giles pointed northeast. "We walk until we cross their trail."   
  
Buffy held up a hand. "What if we don't cross their trail?"   
  
Giles looked grim. "I don't believe that will be a problem."   
  
***   
  
Xander crouched and rested his forearms on the car's windowsill. "Call you later?"   
  
Cordelia swallowed and nodded. "Yeah. Okay."   
  
He reached through the window and touched her arm. "Don't beat yourself up."   
  
Cordelia turned toward him, a wan smile on her face. "Easy for you to say, hard for me to do." He squeezed her arm, then stood up. He bent over when he heard his name. "Xander?"   
  
"Yeah?"   
  
Cordelia's face was grim. "We'll find them, won't we? Whoever did this? We'll find them and make them pay."   
  
He nodded. "It's a yes."   
  
She looked into his eyes. "Good." She dropped the transmission into gear. "Don't forget to call me." The Sebring's tires shrieked as she pulled away.   
  
***   
  
"Here, why don't you try this." Willie placed the glass on the table in front of Angel. "You might like it."   
  
Angel cast a hooded glance at the twitchy little man as Willie shuffled his feet. The souled vampire kept his eyes on the proprietor as he took a long drink of the dark red liquid. Willie kept glancing back over his shoulder. The taste pulled at Angel's attention. The smoothness, the way it slipped down his throat-   
  
Angel's eyes widened. He threw the glass away in a violent motion. The vessel shattered against the brick wall, leaving an irregular crimson blotch that began to slide toward the floor. Willie barely had time to flinch as Angel grabbed his collar and yanked him up on tiptoe.   
  
"Whoa." Willie's voice was almost a scream. "It's a joke, it's a joke."   
  
"Willie, tell me that you didn't give me human blood. Tell me that you aren't that stupid. Tell me that this isn't your twisted idea of a prank."   
  
"Hey, hey, hey," the little man sniveled as his toes scrabbled at the floor. "First, that came from a blood bank. It was given voluntarily. It's AB negative, which I know is a special treat for you guys."   
  
Angel's eyes narrowed. He was an eyelash away from going game-face on the snitch. "Are you saying that you just gave me a glass of AB neg out of the goodness of your heart? Willie, I've been around for over two hundred years, and that might be the single funniest thing I've ever heard."   
  
Willie tried to pull his head away from Angel's grip. "First, I'm not giving it. Somebody paid for it. In my defense, it was his idea. He said you'd like it."   
  
"He?" Angel's attention shifted away from Willie and his eyes searched the bar.   
  
"Yeah." Willie was back on familiar ground now. Passing along information, that he knew. "Tall guy, dark hair, funny accent. He told me to serve that to you."   
  
"Where is he now?" Angel continued to scan the bar.   
  
Willie jerked a thumb toward the back. "He left that way, maybe five minutes ago."   
  
Angel released the bartender's collar, then patted his face with an open hand. Willie winced; apparently it was more than a tap. As Angel stalked away the snitch rubbed his cheek with a trembling hand.   
  
Angel pushed through the back door and found himself in an alley. Something moved to his right and a shadow detached itself from the gloom and approached him. Angel turned and faced it.   
  
"You've got a lot to learn about a sense of humor," he said.   
  
The shadow stopped. "I thought it quite funny." The speaker stepped into the dim light, a tall man with snake hips and a shock of black hair. "They miss you at our Father's House."   
  
Angel suppressed a shudder. "You go to all this trouble just to jerk me around?"   
  
"No, I went to all this trouble because I do not want to be seen talking to you."   
  
"There's a real easy way to accomplish that. Don't talk to me." Angel turned to go back inside.   
  
"But then how could I warn you?"   
  
Angel froze. "Warn me about what?" The icy fingers of dread closed around his stomach.   
  
"That someone you care about is in great danger."   
  
"Pretty cliché, don't you think?" Angel stared at the door, willing himself to appear nonchalant.   
  
"Cliches are cliches because they are so often true."   
  
Angel studied the doorjamb's advanced state of rot. "Maybe."   
  
"The Slayer does not know what she has gotten herself into."   
  
Angel stiffened. He looked over his shoulder. "What makes you think I care about the Slayer?"   
  
"What, because she sent you to our Father? Now who is trying to joke? You know that when I said her name it pierced your heart like one of those stakes you fear so much. Or like the blade of a sword."   
  
Angel whirled. "You're about to exhaust my patience, and if memory serves, you're not much of a fighter."   
  
The other man held up his hands. "So true, but you would waste precious minutes hurting me when she could be in mortal peril."   
  
Angel balled his fists in frustration. "Are you going to give me anything else?"   
  
"I have nothing else to give. She is entering a trap, her and the other Slayer and the Watchers. That's all I know." He stepped back into the shadows. "I expect you to remember this someday." He disappeared into the darkness. Angel stood in the alley, frozen, then wheeled and burst back into the bar, pushing shouting patrons out of the way. He had to get help. The question was where could he find it? 


	8. chapter 8

"Well, you were right. I hope it doesn't swell your head." Buffy crouched, trying to get a better look at the cadaver.  
  
"This is not the sort of affirmation one desires." Giles looked around, his rifle at port arms.  
  
"Whoever these guys are, they enjoy their work." Faith looked over Buffy's shoulder and shook her head.  
  
Buffy stood up and brushed her hands against her jeans. "So we know where they were. What now?" Giles pointed with the barrel of his rifle. Buffy followed the gesture. Lindsay and Gerard were bent low, studying the ground as they moved in slow concentric circles. The blonde Slayer looked at her Watcher. "Tell me this has a purpose. I don't want to live if they're just doing that for fun."  
  
Before Giles could reply, Lindsay stopped and waved. "Got it. Headed this way."  
  
"Let me guess," Buffy said. "Watcher school?"  
  
"We are well trained," Giles said as he walked toward Lindsay.  
  
***  
  
The Rosenberg's doorbell sounded with a tasteful understated peal. Willow flung open the door and gasped. She took an involuntary step back as a hand flew to her throat.  
  
"I need your help." Angel glanced over his shoulder then turned back to Willow. She simply stood and stared at him, goggle-eyed. He stepped forward and was brought up short at the door. "Willow, I need your help. Buffy's in danger."  
  
Willow blinked and shuddered. "I'm sorry," she said. "What did you say about needing help?"  
  
Angel licked his lips. "Willow, I know this is a shock, but--"  
  
"A shock?" Willow's voice was tinged with hysteria. "No, no. Finding my dad with a ham sandwich, that would be a shock. This... this is..." She shuddered and looked at him. "What are you even doing here?"  
  
"I told you. Buffy's in danger and I need--"   
  
"No, no." Willow shook her head. "This doesn't make any sense, it--"  
  
Angel lunged forward and slammed into the invisible barrier. "Willow!" She gulped and stared at him. "I know this is bizarre. But this isn't about me. Someone I believe told me that the Slayers were in danger. I need your help." He looked at her, trying to lock her eyes with his.  
  
Willow ran her hands through her hair. "Listen, this is weirdness." She shook her head again. "I want to help if Buffy's in danger, but how can I trust you? I mean, we don't even know why you're back, or how... and you show up here?" Her pleading eyes looked into Angel's. "How can I trust you?"  
  
He nodded. "You want proof. Okay." He began to unbutton his black silk shirt.  
  
***  
  
The waxing moon had risen in the night sky. Stars glittered in hard little points of light. Buffy found herself wishing that she'd brought a heavier jacket.  
  
"Hey B." Faith walked easily beside her. "Thanks for the Thanksgiving invite."  
  
"No big," Buffy said.  
  
"Yeah it is." Faith turned her face toward the sky. "Almost makes me feel like a real girl."  
  
"What?" Buffy turned her head to look at the dark-haired girl.  
  
"You know, like a normal human being." The brunette took a deep breath. "Do you think this is how Superman feels? I mean, having powers and being able to do shit, it kinda makes things like family dinner seem really cool. Like being a spy in the house of the wholesome."  
  
Buffy thought for a moment, lips pursed. "I don't know if I'm down with the Superman simile but yeah, I know what you mean."  
  
Faith's lips curved in a small, secret smile. "As much as anyone can."  
  
"What's that mean?" Buffy frowned.  
  
Faith shrugged. "Don't wig over it. It's just that you've got your mom and your friends. You've got this whole life that you can fall back into."  
  
They walked a ways in silence as the Watchers continued to scour the terrain for their quarry's spoor. Buffy looked straight ahead when she finally spoke. "As far as I'm concerned, you're part of it too."  
  
There was another space of easy silence, then Faith said, "Thanks."  
  
***  
  
Xander finished punching in Cordelia's number as he went to answer the knock at the door. The receiver buzzed in his ear as he reached for the knob. As he opened the door Cordelia's voice uttered a slightly tinny "Hello."  
  
"Ngaaaahhhh!" Xander exclaimed, stumbling backward. He caught himself before he fell. "Will, what are you doing? Get in here."  
  
Willow shook her head. "Xander, don't--" Her voice spiraled into a squeak as he reached across the threshold and yanked her into the house.  
  
"Xander, we don't have time for this." Willow tried to pull away but Xander held on tight.  
  
"Listen to her," Angel said from the porch.  
  
"Why? Did you put some vampire mojo on her, dead boy?" Xander looked over the struggling Willow's shoulder.  
  
"Alexander Lavelle Harris!" Willow twisted free. She stamped her foot. "He says that Buffy needs us. She's walking into a trap and she doesn't know it."  
  
"Well if she knew about it, it wouldn't exactly be a trap, would it?" Xander waggled his eyebrows.  
  
"This is not the time for jokes." Willow stuck out her chin.  
  
"See, I think it is, because I think this is all a joke." Xander pointed toward the porch. "I think he waited until we were all used to him being back, and now that we've let down our guard and Buffy's on patrol, he's coming after us."  
  
"Xander..." Angel's voice held a world of menace.  
  
"See? You hear that?" Xander pointed again. "If that's not crazy blood-lust in his voice, I don't know what it is."  
  
"It's annoyance at your stupidity," Angel offered.  
  
"He says Buffy needs us," Willow said.  
  
"And we believe him why?" Xander asked. "How does he know she's in danger?"  
  
"Someone told me. Someone I believe." Angel tried to look reasonable and trustworthy. Xander looked at Willow.  
  
"You believe him?" he said in a weak voice. Willow nodded. A burst of raspy noise broke the silence.  
  
"Is that your phone?" Willow asked.  
  
Xander scooped up the receiver, trying to ignore Angel glaring at him from outside. "Sorry," he said. "What? No, everything's okay. Yes, that is a lie. Willow's here with Angel trying to convince me that Buffy's in danger and we should go with Angel to rescue her. What?" He turned to Willow and held out the phone, a sheepish look on his face. "Cordelia wants to talk to you."  
  
"What?" Willow grabbed the phone. "Cordelia, I don't have time for-- What? Yeah. Let me ask." She covered the mouthpiece and turned to Angel. "Would these be the same evil spawn responsible for this week's death fest?"  
  
Angel hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. Probably."  
  
"Angel says he's almost positive," Willow said. "Yeah. Okay." She handed the phone to Xander.  
  
"Cor, I--" Xander stopped, listening. "What? No, I don't. I don't think--" He fumed for a minute. "Okay." He pressed the disconnect button and turned to the others. "She'll be here in ten minutes."  
  
"Great," Willow said, taking the phone from him. "That's just enough time to call Oz."  
  
***  
  
"The Name of the Game" was in the middle of its twenty-third play when Oz heard the phone ring.  
  
***  
  
Finding the trail had grown exponentially easier. Buffy could feel the adrenaline rising, sense the edge creeping into her system. Faith looked calm, but Buffy could sense her racing pulse and hear her rapid breathing.  
  
"What do you think it'll be?" Faith asked.  
  
Buffy shrugged. "Couldn't even guess. One thing I've learned from fighting demons, it's to keep an open mind."  
  
"Hey Lindsay, what if these tranquilizers don't work on what we find?" Faith's voice sounded too loud in the cooling night air.  
  
Lindsay grinned. "How fast can you run?"  
  
***  
  
The significance of their spacing was not lost on Angel. Willow was closest to him, but she was well out of arm's reach. Oz stood just behind her. Cordelia was three or four steps behind him, and Xander was behind her, his arm around her waist.  
  
"He can ride in the back of the van." Oz was answering Xander's question regarding transportation. Dingoes had recently gotten a strong steel mesh barrier welded into the van about a third of the way back. It kept equipment from sliding forward but it would also restrain a vampire. Oz looked at Angel.  
  
"Good," Xander said. "He's not getting close to me."  
  
Angel swallowed the first reply that his brain produced. "You don't have to come."  
  
Xander's eyes narrowed. "That'd be great, wouldn't it? No. I'm going. But I'm walking behind you."  
  
"Fine," Angel said. "As long as you don't get in the way. Now can we go?" He headed toward the back of Oz's van.  
  
"How are we gonna find her?"  
  
Xander's question froze Angel. His mind was completely, utterly blank. He turned back, his mouth open, and a huge question in his eyes. A smug 'told-you-so' look flitted across Xander's face. It morphed into dismay when Willow spoke.  
  
"I could maybe do a locator spell," she said.  
  
***  
  
Giles used his elbows to pull his prone body the last few feet to the top of the knoll. Executing this maneuver in a tweed jacket made him look like something out of a Monty Python sketch gone seriously awry. None of the four people with him commented on this; they were too busy performing their own version of it.  
  
"There they are," Lindsay whispered.  
  
In spite of the danger and the adrenaline, Giles felt a sense of disappointment. Anything can become commonplace if faced often enough and the five creatures below them were only werewolves. Five of the biggest, cruelest looking werewolves he'd ever seen, but werewolves nevertheless. He took off his glasses and placed them in his pocket, then raised the index finger of his right hand. Count initiated, he lowered the hand to the stock of the rifle. He settled his cheek against the smooth curve of walnut and sighted through the scope. The crosshairs-and-post intersected on the chest of one of the wolves. He took a breath, let half of it out and held it. The silent count reached ten. He squeezed the trigger. The rifle's report sounded like a bad cough and the slight recoil caused the target to vanish from his scope. He pulled out his glasses, fumbled with them for a moment, then got them on his face. He peered over the top of his gun. Three of the beasts were slumping to the ground as the powerful narcotics entered their systems. Giles opened the rifle's bolt and reached into his pocket for another dart. His peripheral vision registered Lindsay performing the same maneuver. He brought the rifle up just as the two remaining brutes turned and raced away.  
  
Buffy started to rise but Giles grabbed her wrist. "Wait," he said. "See if they come back." Five agonizing minutes crept past. "Let's go," Giles said. They rose to their feet and proceeded down the hill with great caution. When they reached the bottom, the three Watchers began to examine the werewolves.  
  
Gerard cocked his head, looking at a shoulder joint. "Rupert," he said, "look here. This is not normal. These creatures have been altered." Giles stared at the monster.  
  
"Lindsay?" he said.  
  
"Something's spooky here too," she said.  
  
"I don't want to sound snotty, but we could have told you that." The Watchers turned to look at Buffy. She raised her eyebrows and jerked a thumb toward the night sky. They looked up. A three-quarter moon hung in the sky. Sudden motion brought their gaze back to earth. Shadowy figures were approaching on all sides. Light glinted off yellow eyes and bared fangs.  
  
Buffy went into combat stance. "Does anyone else think this is not a coincidence? Or am I just being paranoid?"  
  
"Hey," Faith said, "just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you."  
  
***  
  
The van screeched to a halt, rocking on its blown shocks. The red Sebring stopped more smoothly. Xander got out of the passenger side, a baseball bat in his hands. He, Willow and Cordelia gathered on the grass while Oz opened the back door of the van. Angel sprawled on the floor. He pulled himself up to a crouch and got out of the van. "Nice stop," he said.  
  
"Where are we?" Cordelia said, tucking her hands inside the sleeves of her cable-knit sweater.  
  
"I think this is part of the U's farm," Oz said.  
  
"UCS has a farm?" Xander asked.  
  
Oz shrugged. "They have an agriculture department. They gotta practice somewhere."  
  
Willow pointed. "They should be over there, past those trees." Angel was already heading toward the timber. The others followed. Xander was last.  
  
***  
  
The Slayers and Watchers were outnumbered, but not overwhelmed. These were obviously Hampton's vamps and while they were tough they were also unimaginative. They showed no patience or strategy, simply boring in and hoping to overwhelm the five by numbers. Buffy and Faith reaped a terrible harvest among them, crisscrossing the ad-lib defensive circle to help the Watchers repel each sortie. The number of attackers began to dwindle, which was fortunate. Buffy's shoulders and thighs burned with fatigue from the sheer number of punches and kicks she'd thrown. The fight could not last much longer. Then she heard a sound that chilled her blood. Two long, ululating howls floated through the air. The two werewolves were returning.  
  
Angel came over the top of the rise and looked down into the depression beneath him. Five figures formed a rough defensive perimeter against the assaults of a vampire mob. As he watched two silvery-black shapes raced across the turf toward the melee.  
  
"What are those?" Willow asked.  
  
"Werewolves," Angel replied. He sprinted down the hill. Willow turned to Oz.  
  
"I don't-" she said.  
  
"I don't either," he replied. "Let's go." They followed Angel down the hill.  
  
"Damn," Xander said. "He wasn't lying, and he's still probably going to get me killed."  
  
The five of them crashed into the rear of the milling phalanx of vampires. The element of surprise carried them the first few feet, then the vamps regrouped and closed around them.  
  
***  
  
A tall, hard-looking vampire named Booker arrived at Mr. Trick's side. "Her friends have arrived."   
  
Trick shrugged, thrusting his hands deeper into the pockets of his black trench coat. "Means nothing. Leave me and wait for the signal." Booker withdrew.  
  
***  
  
Buffy kicked a vampire squarely in the chest. It hurtled backwards, wiping out three comrades. Something grabbed her by the shoulder. She whirled, fist already flying. Angel barely ducked the punch. She stared at him. "What are you doing here?" she screamed over the din of combat.  
  
"Came to help," he replied, punching a vampire in the face.  
  
"I won't turn it down." She drove an elbow into a vampire's nose and turned back to the battle. The werewolves circled the fray and howled, but the close quarters prevented them from coming fully into play. They darted into gaps to snap and slash, but the crush of bodies forced them back. Buffy's arms felt like lead. She gasped for breath. Then there was no one in front of her. She glanced around. The vampire rabble was thinned. The wolves advanced. Giles and Lindsay raised their rifles. Sweat poured down Buffy's face and arms; her quivering legs could barely support her. Faith stumbled into her. Both of them staggered, then the brunette Slayer righted herself. Blood, sweat and fluids of some noxious origin covered her. The Scooby Gang was all engaged. Angel pounded a vamp with both fists. Buffy raised her aching hands.  
  
***  
  
Mr. Trick looked at Booker and raised a hand. The tall vamp spoke into a walkie-talkie and a cadre of vamps dressed in black fatigues materialized out of the trees. They paused for a heartbeat and then rushed the fighting.  
  
***  
  
Buffy drove a stake through a ragged vampire's heart. The force of the blow carried her forward onto one knee. She placed one hand on the ground to push herself upright and felt a strange, thrumming vibration.  
  
"What now?" she yelled at Faith.  
  
Faith looked up and emitted a sound that might have been a masochistic laugh, but when she spoke her voice was level and composed. "Now," she said, "we are screwed."  
  
***  
  
Trick watched his forces hit the exhausted band. The Scoobies absorbed the blow and began to fight back. Trick shook his head and began to walk down the incline.  
  
***  
  
Trick's forces struck hard. Buffy screamed as she broke an arm across her thigh, but the scream was as much exhaustion and pain as adrenaline. She staked the squealing demon and looked for her next victim. She was in a target-rich environment. In fact, she was surrounded, cut off from the other Scoobies. None of the vamps attacked; they simply circled, looking for an opening. Buffy held up the stake.  
  
"Come on," she said in a dry, raspy voice. "Don't be shy. Plenty to go around. Who's first?"  
  
"How about me?"  
  
She turned, thrusting. A black-clad forearm blocked the blow, then darted snake-like around her arm and pinned it. A hand grabbed her ponytail. Her head filled with a diffuse, burning pain as it was jerked upright. She looked into a chiseled, handsome face and watched the virile features slide into ridges and the eyes turn a glowing yellow.  
  
"Say good night," Mr. Trick said.  
  
Buffy felt her neck pop as he twisted her head to the side. A giddy swirl of star-splashed night sky filled her vision and then she felt again that singular, piercing pain of the vampire's bite. The acid heat radiated through her and one by one the stars dimmed and went out, until all was blackness.  
  
***  
  
Angel looked up and saw Trick release Buffy and wipe his mouth on a white handkerchief. Buffy slid to the ground with a peculiar boneless ease. The others saw it too. The fighting froze for a nanosecond. Then Trick raised a hand, snapped his fingers and turned away. The demons roared and attacked.  
  
***  
  
Willow turned in a complete circle. Some of the vampires were gone, but the battle raged on all sides and the Scoobie Gang was outnumbered. Cordelia was on the ground, face covered in blood; Xander stood over her, swinging his baseball bat. Giles had reversed his grip on the tranquilizer rifle and brandished it like a club. Faith was a fury, kicks and punches coming in a blur. It was inspiring, but it would not be enough. A gap opened in front of Willow and she saw one of the werewolves slip into the opening. The beast saw her. Its eyes glowed. Willow raised her stick as the hellish brute crouched. As it sprang, her last thought raced through her head: This is how I will die.  
  
The werewolf soared through the air. At the peak of its leap, Willow felt something buzz past her ear. From far away there was a sharp crack and the wolf's head exploded in a cloud of red mist, white bone, and gray matter. Drops of the gelatinous goo splattered the stunned girl. She stood there, rooted to the spot. A vampire pulled back its fist to strike Angel. The arm disappeared, or at least a large section of the limb between the shoulder and elbow evaporated. The same flat crack sounded in Willow's ears. The vampire screamed. It would not die, but it could be maimed. Three more reports echoed in the night air, so close together they overlapped. Willow saw a werewolf spin around, a long red arc unfurling from between its shoulder blades to etch a lazy spiral through space. The battle faltered. Another sharp slap split the air and a vampire's head disintegrated in a haze of dust, followed closely by its body. The vampires broke off and ran. None of the Scoobies gave chase. Willow turned on wobbly legs. The three tranquilized werewolves lay sprawled on the grass.  
  
"Giles," Willow called, raising her voice, "what about--"  
  
Willow jumped as the night air was torn. She was looking at the closest werewolf. Its right eye popped like a jelly doughnut. A nanosecond later the back of the creature's head blew out, a wide crescent-shaped smear of gore saturating the ground. Willow's screams almost drowned out the shots that ruptured the heads of the other two changelings.  
  
***  
  
"Nice shooting."  
  
"Thanks. You owe me ten bucks."  
  
"Like hell."  
  
"I hit both of mine right through the eye. You got the inside corner."  
  
"Hey, I'm the one that hit a moving target. Don't forget that."  
  
"Don't try and claim that was skill. I know luck when I see it."  
  
"You wish. Come on, let's go." 


	9. chapter 9

***  
  
As the vampires fell away from him, Angel sprinted across the slick grass toward Buffy's supine form. His ears registered strange popping noises behind him, but he did not look back. He dropped to his knees beside her. She looked so small and frail and seemed to weigh nothing at all as he lifted her up. The blood that soaked her shirt and coated her neck looked black. One of the two circular wounds in her neck was a bit larger and more ragged where her flesh had torn as she struggled in the first seconds of the attack. Angel stared at the shimmering veil of her life's blood and cursed his own life, the world and whatever else might exist in the universe. He had lost her again, lost her by being too late, just like before, when the Master took her. Only this time, no amount of CPR would revive her.  
  
It was the blood that penetrated Angel's haze of grief. Even as sorrow crashed down on him like a tidal wave, he was drawn to the blood. Self-loathing choked him. She was dead in his arms and still some part of him wanted to taste, to slake the thirst that burned within him, to gorge on the crimson flow. It was a few moments before the realization penetrated his conscious mind. The blood was still oozing from the wounds. Angel clasped Buffy to him more tightly. He looked at the puncture marks. Fluid still seeped and bubbled, propelled by a beating heart. There, he could feel it, a pulse, faint but regular.  
  
"Giles," he yelled, struggling to his feet. "Willow! Somebody! She's alive! Help me."  
  
***  
  
Giles heard Willow screaming and someone else yelling. He looked over his shoulder. A black-clad figure holding Buffy. Recognition clicked into place as Giles turned. A short film starring Rupert Giles unspooled in his mind. He was bound in a chair as a remorseless captor leaned close, took his right hand, and casually broke first the index, then the middle finger.  
  
The rifle flew unbidden to his shoulder. The crosshairs rested on the nape of Angel's neck. Giles' finger trembled on the trigger, then he lowered the rifle. The dart wouldn't effect Angel anyway. He dropped the gun and sprinted toward them.  
  
The scene was chaotic. Willow stared at the werewolf corpses, which were starting to lose their wolfy look. Sleek pelts vanished, replaced by pale, lifeless human limbs. Xander looked for the source of the blood on Cordelia's face. Faith dropped to her knees, clothing and hair saturated with perspiration and clinging to her. Lindsay remained alert, rifle at the ready. Gerard approached the werewolves. Willow was still screaming. He shied away from the piercing sound, then grabbed her by the shoulders and gave her one sharp shake. Willow's head jerked and her teeth snapped shut with an audible click. She blinked and stared at him. Gerard ignored her and knelt beside the cadavers. Willow looked around. Oz stood a few yards away, staring at the dead with a feverish sparkle in his eyes.  
  
Angel looked up as Giles skidded to a halt. There was a click in his eyes and a flash of painful remorse across his features. "Giles, I..." His voice trailed away. The Watcher kept his emotions clenched like a fist.  
  
"How long?" Giles asked. Angel stared at him, uncomprehending. "How long did Trick drain her?"  
  
Angel shook his head as the librarian took Buffy from him and lowered her to the ground. "I don't know. It was combat... hard to judge time..."  
  
"Well was it a bloody half-hour or a shorter interval," Giles snapped, the ragged edges of his psyche pushing into his voice.  
  
Angel blinked. "Maybe... fifteen seconds."  
  
Giles felt Buffy's wrist, then the unbitten side of her neck. He turned her head gently to examine the wound, then sank back on his heels. A shaky breath escaped his lungs. "I think she'll be all right," he said. "Her pulse is getting stronger."  
  
"How long will she be unconscious?" Angel asked.  
  
"Probably a few more minutes," Giles replied.  
  
"Rupert," Lindsay called out. "How do we get werewolves when it's not a full moon?" Xander limped toward Giles. The boy held Cordelia's hand in his. She pressed a piece of his torn shirt to her forehead. Giles heaved himself to his feet.  
  
"Here," he said, reaching out to Cordelia, "let me see."  
  
"It's okay." She shied away. "I'll need some stitches at the emergency room."  
  
"Let me see." Giles was firm. "You're right. As for the other," he said, turning to Lindsay, "I've no idea. I'd also like to know what happened to them."  
  
"I can answer that." Gerard held out an open palm. A malignant shiny mushroom lay there. "A silver bullet. Actually, a high-velocity hollow-point round fired from a rifle. I extracted this one from the ground."  
  
"Where did Angel go?" Xander asked. Fourteen eyes searched for an answer but could find none. Angel had vanished. Before anyone could comment on his disappearance, Buffy groaned. Her eyes fluttered, then opened.  
  
"Angel," she whispered as she tried to sit up. Faith grabbed her shoulders.  
  
"Whoa B," she said. "Take it easy. You picked up a bad hickey."  
  
Buffy swallowed and touched her neck. Her fingers came away bloody. "I remember... Was that Trick?" Her eyes closed. "And Angel was here?"  
  
"Yes," said Giles.  
  
"And now he's gone?"  
  
"Yes," Giles said again.  
  
"Perhaps," Gerard said, "we should follow his example and leave this place."  
  
Faith helped Buffy up and slung the blond girl's arm over her shoulder. "We're good to go."  
  
Xander pointed. "Cars are that way, maybe a half-mile." He looked at the Watchers. "You guys may have to ride in the back of the van."  
  
***  
  
Buffy touched the thick pad of gauze Giles had taped over the wound. "How's it look?" she asked.  
  
"I'd stick to turtlenecks for a while," Faith said.  
  
Xander and Cordelia had headed for the emergency room. Oz and Willow had dropped them at the library and gone home. Lindsay was cleaning rifles and putting them away. Gerard sat at the table, hands playing with the silver bullet. Buffy went into the office. Giles was almost finished putting away the first-aid kit.  
  
***  
  
Oz pulled to the curb in front of Willow's house. "Crazy night," he said.  
  
Willow's mouth was set in a firm line. "Okay, you've been acting all I've-got-a-secret- wiggly. Now make like the Exxon Valdez and spill."  
  
Oz thought about forming a denial and decided against it. "It wasn't a full moon."  
  
"That weirdness has been commented on."  
  
"No, look at it another way. If they can change when it's not a full moon, then maybe you can keep from changing when it is."  
  
Willow's eyes narrowed. "Were those guys..."  
  
Oz shrugged. "Maybe. I think so. It was hard to tell after they... what happened to them, but I know that none of them were Zane. But that's not the point. You can control the change." His eyes clouded. "You can leash the wolf."  
  
"Oz, this could be dangerous."  
  
"Your spells aren't?" Oz leaned toward her, his green eyes burning into hers. "Willow, if I can control the wolf, I've got to try."  
  
Willow swallowed. "Promise you'll be careful?"  
  
Oz took her hand. "Always."  
  
***  
  
"I understand it was successful," Mr. Quisling said.  
  
Mr. Trick finished hanging his jacket. "Exactly as planned."  
  
"So I can notify the Mayor that phase one is completed?"  
  
"Oh yeah. By the way, he'll probably whine about losing his pets. If he gets too obnoxious remind him of our final goal. Probably wouldn't hurt to mention our losses either." Trick turned away.  
  
"Sir."  
  
"Yes?" Trick turned back. Quisling shifted his weight slightly. The vampire made a beckoning gesture. "What is it?"  
  
"I'm not trying to be forward, but I was wondering... You seem rather elated."  
  
Trick shook his head. "It's her blood, that's what it is." His eyes hooded like a cobra's. "You can't imagine what it was like, Quisling. It was so complex, so rich, so powerful. The first taste was like an explosion. I almost drained her right there."  
  
"But you didn't." Quisling did not seem surprised.  
  
"No, I did not." Trick took a deep breath. "Where would we be if I surrendered to every impulse? Besides, when we're done here, I can keep her alive and sip from her every day."   
  
***  
  
The clear chime of a spoon upon a glass resonated through the room. The conversation around the table shushed. Joyce Summers stood up. All eyes turned toward her. Her smile was nervous and shy.  
  
"It's Thanksgiving, which is a day for giving thanks..." Joyce put a hand to her forehead. "I'm sorry. That was incredibly stupid. I'm a little nervous. Bear with me." She took a deep breath. "What I meant to say is that sometimes it's easy to overlook the good things in your life, but not for me, not this year." She blinked. "My daughter came back to me..."  
  
Buffy ducked her head and felt the bandage on her neck pull.  
  
"...And I found out that she's even more special than I thought. I am thankful for that, but I'm also thankful for the friends who look after her and who have gathered with us today." Joyce bit her lip, eyes shining. "Thank you for being here."  
  
"Can we eat?" Faith asked. She wore a dark red sweater that matched her lipstick and sat directly across from Buffy. Lindsay and Giles sat across from each other. Lindsay was elegant in emerald-green silk but she seemed preoccupied. Giles looked even stiffer than usual. Perhaps his jacket was particularly hairy. Lindsay shushed Faith with a look.  
  
"Yes," Joyce said. "We can eat." And they did.  
  
***  
  
Oz tested the chains one last time. Sundown was coming and he needed time to collect himself. He sat down and arranged his legs in the lotus position. The books hadn't been specific about this, but it felt more like meditation when he did it. He began to breathe deeply, clearing his mind, willing his pulse to remain steady and regular.  
  
The sun settled toward the horizon. The moment of truth was only seconds away. He concentrated on his focal point and kept his breathing regular.  
  
The sun slipped away. He felt it begin, the blood roaring in his ears, the tightening and strain of muscles and ligaments shifting. He closed his eyes and fought to keep his mind clear. He felt the change advance and then stop. It did not recede, but clawed at his psyche like a dog at the door. Sweat poured down his face. His limbs quivered as his lips pulled back from his teeth in a grimace. It was all balanced on the most delicate of fulcra.  
  
Then his tarsals contracted and that exquisite pain broke the wall. The wolf rushed forward to claim him but as the last of his human consciousness ebbed away Oz was ecstatic.  
  
It could be done.  
  
***  
  
Cordelia smoothed the blue, black and yellow Rossignol jacket and then tucked it away in the closet. Her room was immaculate again. Her skis were put away, all her ski clothing was in its special section of the closet, and the rest of her travel clothes were in the laundry.  
  
She sat on the edge of the bed and reached up to push a stray wisp of hair out of her face. Her fingernail caught on one of the sutures and she winced. They were right at the hairline but it still would have been nice if one of her parents had noticed their only daughter sporting six stitches in her head.  
  
She heard the grinding of the garage door as it opened, followed by the roar of the Jaguar's engine as it pulled away. Cordelia lowered her head. Not even home three hours. A new Chase land-speed record.  
  
The phone rang. She would let the machine get it; let someone else dispense fashion tips. Then she reached over and picked up the receiver. She was who she was. She might as well get back in the groove right now. "Hello?"  
  
"Hey, this is the official welcome-back call. How was the skiing?"  
  
Cordy's hand flew to her mouth to cover the grin that emerged, even though he couldn't see it. "Well, let's see, there were lots of really cute guys there. Who dressed well."  
  
"Sure," Xander said. "Anyone can dress well if they're willing to spend money. Let's see any of those guys procure an entire ensemble for five bucks."  
  
Cordelia smiled and tasted salt as a tear slipped over her lip. "Yeah, that would probably be beyond them. How was your Thanksgiving?"  
  
"Very typical. Two hours of incredible tension followed by three hours of yelling culminating in an orgy of drunken revelations, mostly involving how badly I've disappointed them. Just another Harris family holiday." Xander paused. "You okay? You sound funky."  
  
Cordelia wiped at her eyes with her free hand. "Oh, just tired."  
  
"Yeah, I bet." Xander paused. When he spoke again, his voice was free of levity. "I missed you. See you at school tomorrow."  
  
***  
  
Gerard Roland closed his eyes as he savored the bourbon. "Thank you," he said, "I was growing rather tired of tea."  
  
Stefan Warner sat down, his long frame folding onto the sofa. He looked at Gerard across the coffee table. "So it's back to Montreal?"  
  
Gerard nodded. "My flight leaves in three hours. I wanted to thank you for your help."  
  
Warner shrugged. "You told us what was going down."  
  
Gerard waved a hand. "Not only for the other night. Thank you for your ongoing assistance. I realize that it is an imposition."  
  
"We're here anyway." Matti Hollis sat down beside Warner.  
  
"True, but your superiors might not be so understanding."  
  
"Well, that's why we're not telling them about it," Warner said.  
  
"How is your mission proceeding?"  
  
Warner's grin was sardonic. "Sorry, you're not on the need-to-know list."  
  
"Very true." Gerard tossed back the remainder of his drink and stood. "Thank you again for your aid and your hospitality. I trust you will continue to, how is it the children put it? Oh yes, I trust you will continue to have Rupert's back."  
  
One corner of Matti Hollis's mouth lifted. "That may be the first time the name Rupert and the phrase 'got your back' have been used in the same sentence."  
  
***  
  
The Mayor was not happy, just as Mr. Trick predicted. He was, in fact, in a deep funk on this Monday after Thanksgiving. When Ms. Wopner announced a visitor, he did not expect good news.  
  
Which was the correct assumption. A tall, lean man with a shock of hair the color of a crow's wing entered. He held a sheet of fax paper in his right hand.  
  
"Yes?" the Mayor snapped.  
  
"We have a slight problem." The man glanced down at the paper in his hand and spoke in a softly accented voice. "There appears to be a curse."  
  
***  
  
End of "For The Blessings We Are About To Receive." 


End file.
